


If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-21
Updated: 2004-03-21
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 62,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: (PREQUEL TO FARAGO OR BUST)  So... who really killed Jason Kemp?  And who's next?  B/J together go through good and bad, life, and work on a mystery that's kind of thrust upon them out of the blue (no- they aren't hired PI's- just confronted with circumstances).  ;)  characters: B/J (and the gang)- mostly B/J.    post season 3;  I tried to keep the characters canonical to the show- B/J are BOTH treated lovingly- lol.  Mostly 1st person POV (B or J) except at the beginning...





	1. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian leaned back into the pillow, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. Justin curled up next to him, staring at his profile. He relished these moments as much as he did the ones leading up to sex- the post-coital closeness, the tenderness. Of course, he relished the fucking more than he could express, but these moments were special for very different reasons. The smell of cum, sweat and cigarette smoke hung in the air and Justin could not help but inhale deeply to take it all in. He glanced towards the large windows in the loft. Night had fallen hours ago; it was about 11PM.

Brian exhaled the smoke slowly, then suddenly inhaled it between his lips, as he often did. He turned to face Justin, staring into the young man’s clear blue eyes. He curled his lips into a coy smirk. “Well, Sunshine… no job. No pricey liquid TV. No expensive Italian furniture. No fucking Attila Richards Lukacs painting- er, ‘naked guy painting’ as you put it. No Armani’s, Yves St. Laurent’s… and no… well, basically, no nothing…not even the fucking ‘Vette. I’ve lost everything. Imagine that… the hand is quicker than the eye… ” 

Justin rolled his eyes and smiled at him. “You haven’t lost everything, Brian. You still have—“ He stopped short when Brian shot him a look. Justin grinned, “I was GOING to say, you still have your dignity, you asshole. It’s not like everything I have to say is about how much I—“ Brian shot him another look, fiercer than the last. Justin stayed quiet this time, still grinning. 

Brian smirked, giving Justin a light kiss on the nose. Brian then shifted his gaze back to the ceiling. Justin lay next to him for awhile, trying not to look at him. Then Brian turned to face him again, and Justin looked at him full on. Brian studied Justin’s face intensely for a moment, his brow slightly furrowed, his eyes flicking over Justin’s features, as if he was trying to memorize them. Justin couldn’t tell what Brian was looking for, or thinking, but whenever Brian looked at him that way, a tingling feeling radiated from his groin all the way down to his toes and out to his fingertips. Because he had his suspicions about what Brian was thinking. And while he may never hear Brian say it, Justin was pretty damned sure what that look meant. 

Then Brian’s eyes wandered absently from Justin’s face, landing on some object somewhere behind Justin’s head. His focus seemed to have left Justin for a moment. Slowly, he trained his eyes back to Justin’s, his mouth eventually curling into a slight ironic smile; Brian exhaled a small breath- almost a sigh. He looked away.

Justin found himself smiling quietly– despite himself. He gazed at Brian- while he was no longer that wide-eyed, puppy-love-struck twink, he felt a weird giddiness since witnessing Brian in the past few weeks. He tried to muffle the expression he knew was on his face, of complete love and astonishment- after all, he figured, Brian was freaked out enough right now. He didn’t need to deal with any schmaltzy love-sick stares from his nineteen year old… what?… boyfriend, in a non-conventional, non-defined sort of way, as Brian’d put it. Still, Justin could not believe what Brian sacrificed in order to defeat Stockwell. He also could not believe Brian fucking pulled it off in the eleventh hour…. Selling all of his possessions? Brian??? And in order to afford an anti-Stockwell political ad? It was so... out of character.

Justin reflected on the events of the past weeks; Brian had been almost freakishly un-Brian-like since… since when? Since they fucked- or, as Justin would like to imagine: since they made love- in Brian’s office. Justin admitted to himself that he actually felt pleasantly perplexed by this new Brian- of course, he was still abrasive, cocky, sarcastic and rude- but relatively speaking, this Brian was a warm and fuzzy puppy compared to the sleek, sharp predator he’d fallen in love with. Justin was pleasantly perplexed, yes- and slightly disturbed. What the hell was going on? After nearly three years getting to know the ins and outs of Brian Kinney, (as well as anyone could, that is), this new Kinney was so different, Justin wondered if the earth had shifted off of its axis. 

Justin broke his gaze from Brian and barely perceptively shook his head. One part of all of it that WAS characteristic “Brian”: he didn’t tell anyone that he, alone, was the “Concerned Citizens for the Truth.” Brian never did things half-way, but he did do them quietly. Mikey’s birthday. Visiting himself, Justin, every night in the hospital after the bashing, without letting anyone know. And then gluing Judge “Regular” Roy’s butt to the toilet seat after the slap on the wrist he’d given Hobbs for the bashing. Getting Justin that computer so he could continue his art- and insisting he keep it even after Justin had left for Ethan. Brian paying for Justin’s school- again, even after Justin had walked out on him. And now this…

“Well…” Justin broke the silence, “There IS still this bed.” He leaned in towards Brian’s face and brushed his lips lightly across his cheekbone. “Isn’t that really all we need? All we basically ever needed anyway?” Brian blinked, let out a snort and turned to look at Justin again; Justin’s face was just inches from his own. Justin winked.

“Yeah, well.” Brian cocked an eyebrow and poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, “I guess that’s true. But, fuck, just to pay for the mortgage on this loft, I’m going to have to start charging the tricks in the backroom.”

“Well, I’m sure I can get some prime cash for my ass.” Justin paused for effect. “But I’m not so sure about your tired old thing.” 

Brian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “So, you’re kickin’ me while I’m down now, eh, dear old Sunshine?” he glowered. Then he leered wickedly. “Maybe I could just pimp you out instead. And watch.”

Justin rolled his eyes, leaning over to kiss Brian’s beautiful mouth. His tongue slipped in, exploring, probing. Brian was receptive, his tongue sparring lightly with Justin’s. Despite the relative gentleness of the kiss, Justin’s cock began to harden – again. It had maybe been 20 minutes since they had last fucked. Ever since Brian found him on Liberty Ave. that night and took him home and fucked him, he had been amazed at how equally matched they were in lust, passion, desire and stamina … much moreso than he had ever experienced with Ethan. He shuddered involuntarily, recalling all the nights he and Ethan simply weren’t in synch. He had chalked it up to getting to know each other, each other’s rhythms, but he had since realized that wasn’t it at all- They just weren’t meant to be together. Or something like that. Brian and he had been on the same wavelength since day one. Or night one. “I want you always to remember this, so I will always be with you, no matter where you are or who you are with…” As it turned out, the person he was with, who he’d ended up with, WAS Brian.

And thank God Brian took him back for a second chance. Leaving Brian for Ethan, for anyone, was the biggest fucking mistake he’d ever made in his life. But at the same time, he didn’t regret it. It taught him more about Brian and about himself than if he hadn’t left; Ethan’s promises were empty, his romantic gestures mere ploys, his conversation- well, as Justin now looked back on it: egotistical, self-centered and really, really dull. All he talked about was himself, his music, and when Justin found out about Ethan cheating, it hit home how words, mere words, were meaningless. All the romance, all the floor picnics, the roses, the chocolates, that stupid, stupid ring: all a sham. 

Brian didn’t use words to convey his feelings, nor did he make promises. Or rarely, anyway. And when he did, his actions backed them up. Justin thought of the ‘Rules’ he had demanded Brian follow. Brian had. In fact, Emmett recently told him, Brian had seemed to keep those promises even after Justin had walked out on him. Emm said he’d not seen Brian kiss a trick or fuck one more than once since the Rage party. He obviously couldn’t say if he’d been home by 3:00 every morning, but Justin thought it safe to assume that he had. In short, Justin concluded: Brian had true moral integrity. You could trust him, pain in the ass as he often was, dammit. And, Justin guiltily admitted to himself… he hadn’t had such integrity. He broke the very promises he made Brian agree to- each and every one of them. Sometimes, Justin felt like such a prick. He hadn’t recognized what Brian had given him, offered him. Well, he’d learned. And Brian had miraculously taken him back.

At that moment, Brian pulled away from their kiss, looking at Justin’s face. His eyes were closed, he seemed almost entranced. “Justin… where are you?” Brian asked. He’d noticed Justin’s response to the kiss had become very deliberate, or distracted. He wasn’t sure. 

Justin opened his eyes. Brian looked searchingly into the blue depths, which were far away for a moment before refocusing. 

“Ermf…” was all Justin could manage, and with that, he lunged forward hungrily into a deep kiss that surprised Brian. It took Brian a moment to recover, Justin nearly chewing Brian’s lips as his tongue withdrew. The ferocity of the attack shot straight to Brian’s cock, and he matched Justin’s passion with the viciousness of a predator. “Shit,” Brian gasped when they came up for air, just before Justin caught his lips in a similarly breathtaking kiss. 

Justin greedily reached for Brian’s cock, and began to stroke it, not roughly, but insistently, causing Brian to hiss and close his darkened green-hazel eyes. Justin watched his lover shudder, his mouth slightly open, his tongue involuntarily licking his red, swollen lips. He stroked Brian’s dick a little faster, varying the rhythms according to Brian’s breathing, carefully fingering the tip of his penis to slick the pre-cum along the shaft as he felt the smooth, beautiful skin slide along his palm and fingers. 

Brian opened his eyes slightly, with a look of lust, watching as Justin jerked him off. 

Without even having touched himself, Justin’s erection was already curved upwards, and with his slight lean forward towards Brian, he could feel the smooth, warm moisture of his own pre-cum trailing slickly along his belly as his dick swung in rhythm with his stroking Brian. He was about to come himself, and by Brian’s erratic gasps and the hazy look in his eyes, Justin saw that he was too. Justin leaned forward and licked and bit Brian’s ear, then whispered, “Fuck me, Brian. I want this fucking beautiful cock inside my hole. Fuck me!” Justin reached over and grabbed a condom and the lube.

Brian growled, pushing Justin back onto the sheets and hoisting his legs high over his shoulders, roughly, staring down at Justin’s hungry, lustful eyes. “Fuck me…!” he begged, his voice hoarse, his tongue licking his lips in anticipation. Brian began to push his fingers into Justin’s hole when Justin grabbed his wrist, “Just fuck me, fill me, fuck me--please!”

Brian positioned the head of his cock at Justin’s hole, and thrust, deep, watching Justin’s face. A look of pain as Justin’s eyes squeezed shut and he half grimaced made Brian pause. “No, go on- don’t fucking stop don’tfuckingstopfuckmeBrianfuckmefuckme” Justin pleaded, grasping Brian’s ass and pulling him as deep as he could go. Brian inhaled sharply with the sudden jolt of pleasure from being pushed, pulled into Justin to the hilt. Justin’s expression was first of pain, and then ecstasy. He felt full, complete, every nerve jangling with pleasure, his balls tingling slightly from as Brian’s pubic hairs brushed his scrotum; inadvertently, he tightened his anal muscles.

“Fuck, Justin!” Brian gasped. He forced himself to curb his animalistic urge to begin fucking the shit out of him, knowing he hadn’t prepared Justin’s tight hole. Gritting his teeth, he began to slowly pump his cock. “Fuck!” his voice was ragged and breathless as he tried to resist.

Justin looked up at him impatiently, his eyes clouded with need, desire, lust. Without a word he shoved himself roughly against Brian, repeatedly, forcing Brian to go faster. “Harder, Brian- faster! Fuck me! Hard!!!” He rasped, trying to use his slight leverage to get Brian to fuck him as hard as possible... 

Brian was completely in tune with Justin’s body’s pleas, irregardless of his verbal demands, and he figured if Justin wanted a rough fuck, he was more than happy to oblige. Watching Justin’s face, he pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed in again hard, deep, pulled out again to the head of his cock and thrust deep, to the hilt, his balls slapping Justin’s ass cheeks; Justin’s eyes had glazed over, oblivious to anything but the sheer rapture he was experiencing. With every thrust, his open mouth turned up in a gasp of unadulterated bliss. Brian reached for his dick, but Justin grabbed his wrist, and shook his head. “I’m too close…” was all Justin could manage to whisper. So Brian started to fuck him hard and furiously, angling his cock into the depths of Justin’s rectum, bumping his prostate in a slightly different spot with each powerful thrust. Eventually his sweat dripped onto Justin’s chest. Justin used his hands to smear the pooled perspiration over his body mixed with his own. Brian leaned down and hooked his tongue into Justin’s nipple ring, giving it perhaps too hard of a tug given how hard and fast he was shoving his cock in and out. Justin inhaled sharply, “I’m about to come- I want to come tog… tog…” 

Brian’s thrusts became shorter and shorter but faster and faster, his cock remaining mostly up to the hilt in Justin’s ass. 

“Bri….” Brian felt Justin coming, the rings of muscles in his rectum contracting convulsively as the first eruption of cum spurted over his head onto the headboard, the next onto his face, the next onto his chest. With each shudder, Brian felt Justin’s muscles gripping his dick spasmodically as he thrust in deeply, going over the edge himself with the intense rippling sensation of Justin’s coming, spurting wave after wave of cum into the condom tip. Brian purposefully aimed his last thrust hard against Justin’s prostate, causing Justin to yelp and then moan, the shudders in his warm ass gripping Brian’s pulsating cock, prolonging the final spasms for both of them.

Brian, panting, sweating, realized he had closed his eyes. He opened them and looked down at Justin, his eyes closed, mouth open, gasping, smiling, even laughing a little- he gripped Brian’s ass again, pulling him greedily into himself, feeling another shudder roll through him from deep within his groin and ass. His cock twitched slightly as the shudder passed, a last small droplet of cum leaking out onto his belly, seeping into his navel. He steadfastly kept his grip on Brian, keeping him inside as long as he could as if trying to become one with him. Justin didn’t want Brian to move, to leave his body, the fullness and warmth felt so pure, so right. Slowly, he realized where he was and he opened his eyes and looked deeply into Brian’s. Brian’s eyes had such a tenderness to them, such depth, that Justin was momentarily mesmerized. He could not move, could not blink, could not breath. Brian lowered himself onto his elbows, one hand moving up to brush the sweaty blond strands from Justin’s forehead. He kissed him lightly on his slightly swollen, deeply pink lips. He didn’t pull out- he didn’t want to- ever. For a long time, neither said anything, they just looked at each other. Justin wasn’t aware that he was smiling, his erratic breathing slowly evening out. Brian noticed how Justin seemed to have no idea of his own presence- he seemed only aware of Brian. Which made Brian smile gently and kiss Justin again, more deeply, the cum smearing onto his chest. Brian let his fingers play lightly with Justin’s beautiful blond hair; he relished the softness, the sweaty dampness that slightly darkened his hair at the roots. He noted the slim line of pearly semen that had beaded from below Justin’s right eye down to his chin, and he kissed and licked the cum from Justin’s face, savoring every last drop; he then kissed Justin again, allowing him to taste his own essence.

“Brian….” Justin finally managed to whisper.

“Shhhh….” He smiled. He reluctantly pulled out and discarded the condom, and slid next to Justin to hold him. Suddenly he thought, ‘here I am, holding Justin, all warm and sticky.’ Well, actually, this was nothing new. It was just that, for some reason, it only now occurred to him.  
“I love you,” Justin whispered before Brian could shh him. So, instead, Brian kissed him. Then he said, “You’re cleaning the headboard, you know...”

Justin just chuckled softly and closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep, he murmured, “I thought it was just a dream that you could make love while levitating...” 

Puzzled, Brian shrugged slightly and laid his head on the pillow next to Justin’s neck, breathing in his clean, sweaty scent. He sighed and closed his eyes.


	2. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

I open my eyes, blinking. It’s morning, but still gray out. I look at Brian; he’s still sleeping. Slowly and gently I turn my head to see what time it is- good lord, it’s only 6:50. Why in hell did I wake up? Brian and I fell asleep last night in each other’s arms, and now our limbs are completely entangled. There is absolutely no way I can untangle myself without waking him; he’s a pretty light sleeper, when not drunk or high out of his mind. So, I simply lie here, content to watch Brian sleep. I notice that Brian has kicked off part of the duvet; even though it’s winter, Brian has always said that sleeping with me is like sleeping with a human toaster oven. And it would seem he’s right, because often when I’ve woken up before him, I see that he’s partially uncovered. 

God, he has such long beautiful brown lashes- they furl so gracefully from his large almond eyes, his high cheekbones and hugely expressive eyebrows frame his face, perfectly. His strong nose and prominent chin are in ideal proportion to the rest of his face, including his wide jaw. Everyone seems to notice his eyes, his lashes, his cheekbones, eyebrows, but few people seem to note how gorgeous his jawline is, and his beautiful chin. I just love to sketch Brian. I can draw his face from memory- but I much prefer to trace his features onto paper with him right there as a model- although he’s maybe the most restless and impatient model I’ve ever encountered. Best yet is this: to watch his face like I am now. No pretenses, no masks… just Brian sleeping.

As if on cue, Brian’s eyes flutter open. Blearily, he dimly focuses on me. I find myself grinning. He groans, closes his eyes and untangles his left arm and leg from me to roll onto his back. He clears his throat, “Justin,” his voice is husky, “I’m beginning to think you’ve been drugging me at night so that you can watch me while I’m sleeping… it’s getting downright creepy… this is like the fourth morning in a row…”

“Well, I couldn’t have moved much, or I’d have wakened you…” I protest. “And you need your beauty sleep...”

“Aherm…” is all he says, ignoring the gentle dig. He yawns, and stretches. My dick twitches as his long, muscular arms flex and quiver, and legs lengthen and tense, his uncovered leg showing each muscle, his toes curling. Even though he had bought the longest bed he could buy, he once had told me, he still has to push his hands against the headboard in order to stretch out to his full length. He relaxes into a contented slump. “What time is it, anyway?” He asks, his eyes opening and peering past my shoulder to see the clock. “Shit! It’s 7:15? What the fuck!”

“I’ve been up since 10 ‘til.”

“Yeah, well…remember, I was sleeping off whatever drug it is you gave me…” 

I smirk, pull away and get out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower.” I announce. I see one of Brian’s eyebrows cock under his hand, which is rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Excellent idea,” he mutters, forcing himself out of bed. We head to the bathroom, each of us taking a piss, then Brian goes to the shower and adjusts the temperature.

After our shower and another quick suck and fuck, I dry off, pull on some briefs, and plod to the kitchen to make coffee and toast some bagels. Eventually, Brian joins me at the counter. I put a cup of coffee and a buttered bagel in front of him.

“We have that ‘Victory Brunch’ at Deb’s today,” I remind Brian. He winces visibly. “Christ…” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee and pushing away the bagel.

“Brian, it’s only 8:15. We aren’t going there ‘til 2:30 in the afternoon. You should eat something.” I know it’s futile. Brian’s so illogically obsessed with his weight, it’s ridiculous. 

“Never mind.” He sips his coffee absently, then pushes away from the counter and pads over to the door to get the paper. I watch him move, lithe, clothed only in silk pajama bottoms. Jesus, is all I can think. Jesus. How Jack and Joanie Kinney could have created this surreal and beautiful creature is a total mystery. I watch as he yanks the loft door open, leans down, and picks up the paper. Slamming the door closed, he turns on his heel, glancing at the headlines and then at me. He must notice my fixed gaze because he stops cold. 

“What the fuck are you looking at?” He asks.

I blush, and turn back to buttering another half bagel. I don’t say anything and keep my eyes down, pretending to concentrate on my task, but I can just feel him smirking that arrogant, “oh, yeah” smirk of his—sometimes he forgets how beautiful he is, and when he’s reminded, it seems to amuse him. It can be annoying. Wherever Brian goes, heads turn- men, women, gay, straight—hell, children even seem to notice him. He’s just pleasant to look at. And he’s generally pretty oblivious- unless, of course, he’s stalking a trick at Babylon.

He sits across from me at the counter. I keep my eyes down, ostensibly intent on my bagel, when I see his hand come up under my chin, lifting my head to meet his eyes. I look at him- and yes, there’s that smirk. “You know that you’re hot when you pretend to ignore me? And you’re hot when you blush, when you walk, when you look at me, when you dance, when you sketch, when you sleep– ” He pauses, and winks at me.

Not expecting that, I feel my face grow even warmer as I look into his twinkling eyes, and I smile. He grins, then settles in to read the paper. Normally he’d go kick back on the sofa to read. But there no longer is a sofa. I finish my bagel and clean up. Then I grab my sketchbook and sit at the far end of the counter, tracing with long lines the image of Brian in the morning, two days after the defeat of Stockwell. He is either oblivious that he’s being drawn, or he could care less. At least he’s being still, I think to myself.


	3. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: 3RD PERSON

The morning passes lazily, and by 1:45, Justin and Brian have settled onto the bed, the only soft place left in the loft. Brian glides his strong, long fingers along Justin’s arm, feeling the soft skin, sighing to himself. ‘Justin is so… almost… he’s almost ‘lovely’ in a masculine way,’ Brian muses. His wondrous, trusting, mischievous eyes, so expressive and open, showing all he is feeling at any moment. His skin, so smooth, his body so remarkably lean and muscular despite the enormous amount of food he consumes. Brian snickers.

“What?” Justin arches an eyebrow languidly, enjoying Brian’s touch as much as his gaze that sweeps his body with an expression of wonder, appreciation, and overt love—only Brian’s eyes betray that he is very obviously smitten with the young man. Justin knows Brian doesn’t realize that his eyes show his true feelings in this way, and he has no intention of telling him.

“You have such a fucking fast metabolism… how do you eat so goddamned much and stay so beau—and not turn into a flabby-assed queer?”

“I’m a teenager… Plus, Brian, you watch what you eat too much. You’re metabolism is ‘fucking fast’, too. My mom is right- you’re too skinny!” Justin grins.

Brian’s brow furrows. “Fuck you...”

“But,” Justin adds, “I like you as you are,” he caresses Brian’s cheek with his dexterous fingers, and runs his thumb idly down the slight cleft in Brian’s chin, “I just think you’d find you’d look the same even if you DID have mayo on your turkey sandwich.”

Brian’s face softens as he looks at him, his eyes smiling. “I just don’t like mayo, Justin.”

“Whatever,” Justin’s hand slides down to Brian’s chest, his thumbs circling his nipples slowly, seductively. 

“Um, Brian…?” Justin whispers provocatively, looking suggestively into his eyes.

Brian feigns ignorance as to Justin’s intentions, “What?” He reaches around and scratches an imaginary itch on his back, looking distractedly around the room.

“Briiiiannn….” Justin leans in gently, brushing his lips against Brian’s, his tongue playing lightly along the edges, tracing the outline.

Despite his cock beginning to stiffen, Brian pulls back and wipes his mouth with his hand, “You’re getting me all spitty, Justin!” He complains.

“Brian!” Playfully indignant, he traces his hand down to Brian’s cock and takes it into his hand, stroking it. He is of course aware of Brian’s game, but he’s in no mood.

But Brian suddenly sits up, his face either turned into a wicked grin or a half grimace- Justin wasn’t sure. “No time, Sunshine...! We have to get over to Deb’s for her guaranteed-to-be-way-over-the-top victory brunch.”

Justin groans as Brian swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. “You are such a TEASE!” He complains, reaching out to grab Brian’s hand or ass or cock or whatever he can catch to pull him back into bed. But he misses. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I don’t have shitloads of spare time now to spend fucking, deeeearie. Besides, I want to get this little shindig over with.” He pauses to consider what’s in store for them. “God…. What a fucking nightmare…” he mutters, “I wouldn’t go, but I figure I may as well get a free meal, seeing as how I can’t even fucking afford a turkey sandwich at the diner anymore… mayo or no mayo.” Brian’s back is to Justin, and Justin watches him pull his black jeans over his ass, buttoning and zipping them up. His hard-on gets even harder watching Brian move. 

“Brian…” he begs, ignoring his bitchy complaints.

“C’mon Sunshine! Get the fuck up!” Brian tosses Justin the pair of Chino’s that were still in a heap on the floor, having been discarded in their lusty stumble from the door of the loft to the bed the night before. The slacks land on Justin’s head, one leg flopping over his face. He yanks them off, sighing. Brian’s right, of course, Justin notes by looking at the clock. But dammit, he’d demand his pound of flesh later when they got home. He catches Brian’s eye as he gets up to put on his slacks. Brian winks. He realizes Brian will be more than willing to give it to him- and then some.


	4. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

 

We pull up to Deb’s house. Thank God Justin’s Mom got both cars in the divorce- Craig had gone and bought a new Mustang right after moving out, so he had been glad to leave the family transport behind. Still, it’s a fucking Buick Skylark and I feel like a fucking ass driving it, but Jennifer is nice enough to let me borrow it until I can either get my ‘Vette back or afford a new car, so I really shouldn’t complain. But. Well. That isn’t going to stop me. I mean, it’s a goddamned Skylark. I kill the engine and look over towards the Novotny home. Although I hadn’t expected anything less than what I see, all I can do is stare. Despite it being broad daylight, the entire house is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. There’s a banner over the door, “WE STOPPED STOCKWELL!!” in the colors of the rainbow, with multi-colored lights hanging in stringy clumps from the porch gutter, and huge rainbow flags dangling from the porch railing. I roll my eyes. Justin follows my gaze to see what I’m looking at. 

“Jesus!” He mutters. 

“Yeah, well… this is the Novotny’s, remember.”

“It should read, ‘Brian Kinney stopped Stockwell’, you know that?” Justin grins after a few moments.

“Bullshit. You’re worse than Debbie.” I pull on the door handle, “Ok, let’s get this over with.” We get out and climb the steps. I have to duck to miss getting ensnared in a tangled string of lights that had become unhooked from the gutter. We can hear the laughter and chatter inside and I hesitate before pressing the doorbell. I look at Justin, who shrugs. I sigh and push the button.

The door swings open and Deb is there with a huge grin on her face, her cheeks flushed with wine. “THE MAN OF THE HOUR!” She practically screams, and she yanks me into a smothering hug that makes me wonder how Michael ever survived childhood. I thank God I’m too tall for her to totally engulf me. Warm smells of garlic bread and marinara sauce waft out of the door and envelope Justin and me. She releases me and grips my arms beaming with what I assume to be pride as a tear slides down her cheek. I find myself looking down self-consciously and scuffing at an imaginary pebble with the toe of my boots. Gawd, sometimes she has this way of making me feel 14 all over again. I hate it. Usually. She then turns her attention to Justin. “SUNSHINE!” She exclaims and takes him into a hug that rivals a wrestling hold. I lose sight of his face and begin to worry if he can breathe, but she finally lets him go. I notice him gasping as she spins around and gestures for us to go inside. “Enter-- to our victory brunch!!” She cries.

We follow her in. “Justin,” I hiss under my breath. He glances at me. “Why... why the fuck did she say I’m the man of the hour?” I can feel my teeth clench.

He shrugs. “Maybe Mikey told her?” He whispers.

‘Fuck!’ I think, shuddering. This is the last thing I need. We’ll never get the fuck out of here.

Jennifer, Ben, Vic, Rodney, Mel, Linds, and Emmett are sitting around the living room with full plates and glasses of wine. Gus is apparently upstairs napping. When they see us, they all cheer. I wince. Fuck. Justin is grinning.

“Go fill up a plate, pour yourselves some wine, and join us!!” Vic says. Justin and I head to the kitchen. 

“Jesus,” I mutter, looking at the spread. “This looks more like an Italian restaurant exploded than a brunch- and where are the croissants, the pastries, the mimosas?”

Justin ignores me, happily piling his plate with pasta, bread, salad, fruit, and whatever else he can scoop onto the plate without it spilling off. “Ooooo! Chicken parmesan!” he coos, digging into the platter eagerly.

His plate brimming, Justin turns to me, waiting for me to finish serving myself. “So, where’s Ted?” he whispers.

“I heard he checked himself into rehab.” I answer. Mikey had called me for a very brief chat the other day and told me. As much as I rag on Theodore, and as much of a schmuck as I believe him to be, I don’t hate him. And he was really going off the deep end there, for awhile. At least he’s not so much of a loser to not do something about it—I had been concerned for Emmett, actually. So, whatever it was that precipitated his change of direction towards recovery, I’m quietly glad for both of them. Quietly. Ted’s still a schmuck.

We get back into the living room and sit on the rug, the only sitting room available. “Here, sit here!” Debbie says, getting up and pulling on my arm till I almost spill my plate. “Vic, get up! Let Justin have your chair!”

“I’m fine, Deb. I am- this is fine, really!” I insist. Jesus Christ. Justin, his mouth full having already started in on the huge helping on his plate, mumbles something about the floor being fine for him too. 

“But you deserve a chair at least- it was you and your ad that DID it- that pushed US over the TOP and STOCKWELL into OBLIVION! I knew you wouldn’t- couldn’t- go through with helping that fucking homophobe win, Brian Kinney!” She exclaims. Everyone is looking at me, smiling brightly. Even fucking Justin has looked up from his plate to grin at me. Asshole.

“And YOU, Sunshine!” she continues—ha- he can’t escape attention either! Although, he loves it. “You’re as much of a hero as Brian, here- with your brilliant posters!” Lindsay interjects a hearty, “Here! Here!” at that, and the whole room claps. Even me; payback, I figure. But, honestly, the posters really were good. “And,” Deb continues, clapping Justin on the back, which starts him coughing, “...that scheme to undermine Stockwell’s hypocritical appearance at the Gay and Lesbian Center- that was damned near genius!!” I cringe inwardly. 

Dammit, Deb, you know better.

Justin recovers from his coughing fit, his face pink, and clears his throat. “Actually, Deb, I think you know…” I shoot him a glare, “I think you know that Brian…” I hiss under my breath, ‘don’t you fucking dare…’ Justin glances at me and hesitates, clearing his throat again- but he continues, “…you know that my deep throat was Brian. The coup at the Center was his idea…” He winces and avoids my gaze which, if I had any powers remotely like Rage, would kill him dead right there.

Fucker. I scowl at him. I’m sure he can see me out of the corner of his eye, but he pretends to be focused on forking up a mouthful of chicken parmesan. ‘Course, knowing him and food, he may not be pretending. Still, he knows that I’ll get him for this later. While I know Deb had suspected the public disgracing of Stockwell at the GLC was my idea, (as she told me, it had the “mark of the master written all over it,”)– still, no one else here had seemed to make any connection, which was and is precisely how I had wanted it. 

At Justin’s little revelation, everyone glances at each other, surprised. Everyone, that is, except for Justin, Deb and Lindsay. Lindsay looks at me with a knowing smile on her face. ‘I knew it, Brian,’ she mouths. She raises her glass quietly to me, and takes a sip. Then I see her turn her attention to the room, raising her glass again. I shoot her a fierce glare. “To Brian, savior of Liberty Avenue!” She cheers. I swear, I have to work on my nonverbal ‘shut the FUCK up’ look. It doesn’t seem to work as well as it used to…

“Here, here!” Everyone shouts- even Justin. Even fucking Mel, I notice. Even Jen! They all take a drink, and quite literally, I want to get up, go to the door and leave. But instead, I try to dampen the moment.

“Yeah, well. Fuck that. Justin did as much or more than I did. And Stockwell IS still the Chief of Police, you know.” I add, not drinking. And, I think to myself, now he has a serious axe to grind with the gay “community”.

“But he ain’t mayor!” Deb says loudly, chortling. Everyone clinks glasses again and drinks.

Ok, so this has got to stop. “So…” I venture, “Ben, have you heard from Mikey and Hunter? I could use my wheels back, you know….”

That was the one topic that could have deflected attention off of me, and I’m grateful that I thought of it. Not that it hadn’t been on my mind anyway.

“Ben says they called from a gas station in Altoona not long ago,” Debbie interjects, before Ben can say anything.

“Are they ok? Where are they going to go?” Justin asks.

“I have a cousin in Blue Balls…” Ben says; Justin glances at me and I wink, mouthing, ‘yes, that IS a real town’- Justin barely suppresses a laugh. Ben continues, oblivious, “... he and his wife are going to put them up tonight. We’ll have to plan what happens after that tomorrow. We just don’t know. Hunter’s mother is fucking furious. And I suspect I may be brought in for questioning tonight or tomorrow regarding their whereabouts…”

I sigh. Hunter really put his ass on the line. I have to respect that kid. As fantastic and controversial as Justin’s posters were, there’s no way Stockwell would have lost if it weren’t for the evidence Hunter had gathered. Although, I must admit, he was downright stupid in how he collected it. I shake my head, recalling Mikey screaming at Hunter after I’d taken him home, ‘YOU FUCKED A MURDERER?????’ And Mikey was sure pissed at me, thinking I’d put him up to it.

Justin echoes my thoughts. “You know, without Hunter, we never would have been able to put those pieces together about Jason Kemp’s death. If he’d never gotten that sperm sample and the identity of the cop, we’d never have been able to make the link that it had been Stockwell’s ex-partner … and now the poor kid has to go through all of this with his goddamned mother. He’s as much of a hero as Brian is…”

Inwardly I roll my eyes. ‘The poor kid’ – ha! Justin is only about 3 years older than Hunter. Which actually is rather sobering to me, so I push it out of my mind. Besides, if there were ever a more mature 19 year-old than Justin, I’d be surprised.

However, I wish to hell he’d quit it with the hero shit. I just got everyone to stop thinking about that nonsense…

“I just can’t believe that cop ended up killing himself – after nearly a year since the boy was found dead! You’d have thought he’d have killed himself sooner if he’d felt that badly about it.” Jen points out. Thank you, Jen, for staying on topic, I think to myself.

“Well, he’d just learned that he was going to be linked to that death, Mom- and that it was going to go public- not only about murdering Kemp, but also about the fact that he was gay, himself.” 

“Still,” Rodney says, chewing on a bite of garlic bread, “why… why would he wash his car in the garage, then blow his brains out all over it...?” 

I’m thinking about what Rodney is saying, remembering how odd it had seemed to me when Horvath had told me about the suicide. I mean, really, it shouldn’t have seemed that peculiar- as Justin said, he was about to be exposed as a murderer and he was about to be blown right out of the closet. But there was something that just felt off about it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Justin looking at me – more intently than I consider warranted. I snap out of it and fork up a piece of fruit. 

Everyone is quiet for a moment. At this rate, we’ll be here all fuckin’ afternoon.

“Well, whatever the fuck…” I interrupt the silence on purpose, hoping to get the chit-chat over with, and ideally, the afternoon festivities, as well. So, why not be brutally honest?: “Let’s finish eating and get this over with, shall we?”

I see the men exchanging glances with small grins on their mouths. But Mel, Lindsay, Debbie, Jen—all the women roll their eyes. But only Mel speaks up. She’s so consistent, that bitch... 

“Prick…” she mutters, loudly enough for everyone, especially me, to hear. I briefly flash my best shit-eating grin in her direction and take a bite of pasta. I see Lindsay give her a look and whisper something I can barely hear- but it’s something along the line about how I always have hated this kind of attention. Really, besides Mikey, Lindsay really has always known me better than anyone. 

“Right, everyone! Dig in!” Debbie urges, “We still have dessert!”

“Let me guess,” Justin whispers in my ear, and we roll our eyes, smiling at each other as we simultaneously mouth, ‘lemon bars’.

“She’ll have Cool Whip, too,” I whisper quietly.

“I baked up some fresh lemon bars! AND: I have Cool Whip!” Deb exclaims.

Justin and I collapse in laughter, both trying unsuccessfully to contain ourselves- after a few seconds, Justin is nearly choking on a bite of chicken. 

I notice Debbie and a few of the others looking at us curiously before resuming their meals. At this moment, I feel every bit as teenaged as Justin. Gawd.


	5. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

When Justin and I get home, we go straight to bed. It’s after 8, goddamn it. What a long-ass fucking day. I fucking knew we’d never get out of there as quickly as I’d wanted. After we had finished eating, the conversation never stopped, and while I wanted to leave as soon as possible, Justin seemed to have been enjoying himself. So, I resigned myself to suffering through it. Besides, once Gus had awakened, it was fun to play with him. I am stunned at myself in how much I love that child. I really am. I never would have thought. I just hope I don’t fuck up. “Like father like son” is maybe my least favorite cliche in the world- besides “love conquers all”, of course. But once he was down for the night, I quickly lost my patience with the drivel about how Vic and Deb were going to paint Mikey’s old room, where Emmett’s last catering job was and what outfit Lindsay should wear to the next gallery opening, so I pulled Justin by the front of his shirt towards the door.

“Gotta go,” I announced, opening the front door unceremoniously, pulling a stumbling Justin along behind me, snatching his coat from the back of the sofa and tucking it under my other arm. “Thanks, Deb...” I closed the door behind us and we were thankfully free, soon driving home in the damned Skylark. 

Since I had interrupted our early afternoon session, I “comply” with Justin’s desire for a night of sweat-drenched, cum-smeared fucking. My reward. His too, I could gather from the incredible and spontaneous moans and groans and whispers and yelps he uttered all night.  
\------------------------------

When I wake up, I blearily judge by the sunlight streaming through the windows that it must be close to noon. I glance over at the clock. 11:25. Jeeeesus. Of course, we hadn’t actually fallen asleep until around 4- after 5 fucks. Suddenly I notice Justin on his elbow next to me, studying me, his twinkling eyes reflecting the dark blue of the sheets. 

“Fuck me, Justin…you really ARE drugging me before I go to bed!! How long have you been staring at me like a lunatic?” I murmur. I close my eyes and turn onto my back, hearing myself grunt as I shift myself on the pillow.

“Brian, you’ve been sleeping forever,” he replies. Yeah, no shit, Sunshine.

“Yeah, well. What else do I have to do?” My voice is still hoarse from having just woken up.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to become some lazy assed, unemployed bum who sleeps all day in the park, lying on a bench with the Pittsburgh Daily News covering his face…”

“New York Times.” I correct. “And fuck off, Justin. It’s Sunday. Besides, I only lost my job a few weeks ago. I deserve a vacation.”

I glance over and just barely catch a glimpse of Justin rolling his eyes before yanking his leg out from under mine. I watch as he turns and swings his body around, getting up. “So, the diner? Or shall I make breakfast?”

The thought of going to the diner makes me cringe. I do not want a repeat of yesterday’s ‘Brian and Justin defeated Stockwell’ love-fest. “They’ve probably stopped serving breakfast at the diner by now. Just coffee, thanks.”

As Justin goes off to make coffee, I get to thinking about what we were talking about yesterday. Sure, maybe that self-loathing, homophobic closeted cop offed himself. But I still can’t shake what my gut reaction had been when Horvath told me the guy’d committed suicide. I thought it odd then. And the more I’ve thought about it since, I think it odder now. I shrug it off. Whatever. One less homophobic freak in the world. Who cares how it happened?

I’m still flat on my back, rubbing my eyes trying to get the weariness and sleep to disappear when Justin bounces – flying leap bounces-- onto the bed beside me. I fucking jump a foot in the air- partly because of the mattress recoiling and partly because he scares the bejesus out of me. “GodDAMN it, Justin!!!” I shout. “FUCK! What the HELL??”

“Wake the hell up!” Is his simple response, grabbing a pillow and whopping me over the head. Jesus, mature or not, I really am sharing my bed with a goddamned teenager. What the hell am I doing?? I choose just to glare at him- I’m not going to take the bait and start a pillow fight. I swear, I wonder sometimes if Daphne has had too much influence on that boy. I get up on my elbow as he hands me a cup of coffee from the nightstand. 

“You better fucking not get coffee rings on that, Justin- that’s one of the few pieces of furniture I have left, and it’s imported from Italy.”   
“I used a tray,” he says. Which I notice after rubbing my eyes one more time. I’m much more awake now, though, after having the shit startled the hell out of me. 

“What are you thinking about?”

I hate it when he asks me shit like that. Really, actively, completely, hate it. Because usually, it is none of his goddamned business. Because usually, I’m thinking about things I’m uncomfortable thinking about anyway. Because usually, I’m thinking about him, in the context of ME... in the context of US... and I just HATE that. It’s so lesbionic.

But this time, it’s safe. Still, for good measure, I give him a warning glare- just to remind him that he should keep those kinds of questions to himself. “Just about what we were talking about yesterday. About that cop killing himself.” I take a sip and damn near scald my tongue- choking, I almost spit out the coffee. “DAMN it, Justin!” I’m wincing as I feel the coffee boiling down my esophagus into my stomach, “...are you honestly trying to KILL me this morning?” Justin smiles sheepishly, “Sorry.” He says in a small voice.

I get out of bed, coffee in hand. The last thing I want to do is stain my sheets with coffee. It would swear with the cum stains. Ha ha. Besides, they are yet one more of the few remaining possessions I have. Of course, I quietly admit to myself, I shouldn’t have let him give me the cup while I was still in bed. I knew better. Still, I scowl at him. 

“Sorry about that,” he says again, picking up the tray and following me into the kitchen where he places it on the counter. 

I relent. After all, he was nice enough to make it for me, and bring it to me. “Whatever. Don’t worry about it…” I sit at one of the stools, glancing back to where the dining room set had been. Where there is now just a vast expanse of floor. 

“Well, looks like we have acres of space for floor picnics, Sunshine,” I grimace. Fucking romantic bullshit. Fucking Ian. “In fact, that’s all we’ll be having from now on.” Then I realize that I sound harsher than I really feel, and I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. I actually just feel a bit at a loss as to how to proceed with life at the moment, things have changed so drastically.

I notice Justin’s face twinge a little at that reference, but he rallies quickly. “Quit fucking feeling so sorry for yourself! Jesus, Brian! Remember: sorry is bullshit? No apologies, no excuses, no regrets? Snap out of it!”

I smile. God, that twink can read me like a book sometimes. It’s comforting- and terrifying. “You’re right.” Changing the subject, “So... what do you want to do today? Fly to Spain? Shop for Armani suits? Go to New York and hit the Russian Tea Room? Sky’s the limit!”

Justin smirks, “Go for a car ride in the Buick?” 

God, I hate that car. Why’d he bring that up?  
“We could take a picnic somewhere…?” He offers, smiling slightly.

He looks so goddamned hopeful, so beautiful, and so fucking hot, I find myself smiling and pulling him to me for a deep kiss, to which I’m pleasantly surprised he responds with a fervor that makes my cock stiffen and my heart beat faster. I take his hand and pull him into the bedroom. I’m well rested up. This should be fun. I push him onto the bed and he looks up at me grinning, eagerly yanking off his briefs to reveal the most magnificent, pink, curved cock I personally have ever seen. And… well, I’ve seen a LOT of cocks.


	6. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

I glance at Brian from the kitchen as I prepare and pack sandwiches, pasta salad and Jalapeno chips for our picnic. He’s bent over on the bedroom platform, toweling off his hair after our shower. We were both so sticky and smelled so much like sex that a good half hour shower was in order before we went out in public. And it was ‘in order’ for other reasons, too, I smile to myself, idly rubbing my ass. “Do you want beer or wine or mineral water?” I call to him.

He just grunts, throwing the towel on the floor and turning to his closet. “Fuck. I only have ‘picnic wear’ LEFT in this goddamned closet!” He exclaims. I watch him yank out a black wife-beater, a white sheer shirt and a pair of black jeans. As I finish packing everything, I glance up every so often to watch him dress. When he’s finished, he steps out of the bedroom and walks towards the kitchen, barefoot. As I watch him, I think, hell, he’d probably get hired by any agency in the States wearing just what he has on. 

“Fuck it, Brian. It’s temporary. You’ll find something.” I finally say, deciding to pack a couple of bottles of wine and some mineral water. I toss a corkscrew into the box. He doesn’t have anything remotely like a picnic basket—I even wonder if he’s ever been on a picnic in his life. Too “romantic” for his taste, I suspect. These are probably the only circumstances in which I’d ever be able to get him to go on one- he’s too destitute for a lunch at a Bistro, and he has no interest in subjecting himself to the hero worship he’ll inevitably get at the diner- so, picnic it is.

He looks at me appreciatively, and walks around the counter behind me to peer over my shoulder into the box. “So, what has the widdle wife packed for our widdle picnic?” he mocks. I can hear from his voice that he’s grinning.

I shoot him a look. “Fuck off, Brian. You want to have anything to eat when we get to the park, or should I just brown bag it for myself?”

He appraises the picnic ‘basket’. “Ah, the versatile liquor box. Good for carrying vast amounts of liquor, for moving, and for going on ‘ridiculously romantic’ picnics,” he pauses thoughtfully and adds, “Or, in this case, picnics borne out of adversity.” Instead of replying, I just fire off another wilting look. “We’re gonna freeze our fucking asses off, you know that?” He adds, absently.

“Okay, well, I’m done packing OUR lunch, smartass, so I’m going to go get dressed,” I say, attempting to shrug off the arm he has draped over my shoulder from behind. But he restrains me from moving and puts his mouth to my ear, giving my earlobe a light kiss. “It looks delicious, Sunshine. Thanks for making it,” he whispers. I get shivers, but pull away with a smile, “Thanks, Brian. But really, I have to get dressed so we can go—it’s already 2….” I duck out from under his grasp and move around the counter.

I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk towards the bedroom, clothed only in my briefs. I hear him padding after me and I glance around as I feel him nearing.

“No, Brian! I really have to get dressed!” I exclaim, giving chase as he starts after me.

“There’s nowhere to hide anymore, Sunshine,” he leers, as we face off- instinctively, I had run over to where the sofa had been, to put something between us so he couldn’t get me—but, he’s right- nothing is left in the damned loft except the bed. I see his eyes sweep over me as he lunges. I dodge, laughing, and duck his attempted grab as I run behind the kitchen counter.

“Brian!!” I laugh, “Don’t you want to go on this pi—?“

There’s a sudden loud knock on the door. We freeze. “Shit.” Brian says, “Why, why, WHY, whenever we want to fuck, are fucking, or have just fucked, does someone instantly show up at the goddamned DOOR?” I pass him on my way to the bedroom as he heads for the door. As I pass, I whisper, “Maybe because that’s pretty much all the time?” He chuckles, stopping me mid-stride with his arm. He gives me a small kiss on the nose, and looks briefly into my eyes- it’s that look that I know, that look that says more than he’ll ever verbalize. I smile, give him a soft kiss on the lips, hoping I’m communicating the same to him, and I jog off into the bedroom. I quickly pick out a pair of jeans and a blue tee-shirt and go to the bathroom to change. I hear the loft door slide open as I close the bathroom door.

“Detective Horvath?” I hear Brian say, incredulously. He seems to stammer. “What… what can I do for you?”

“Carl. Just Carl, Kinney.”

After that, all I hear are mumbles and a few clear words here and there. “come…” “thanks….” “what can I…” “the force…” “when…why…Deb…?” “suspicious…angle…” “no shit!…” that was Brian. Of course. 

Once I’ve finished dressing, I come out into the living room to see the two of them facing each other on either side of the counter, Brian standing in the kitchen, forearms crossed on the counter, and Horvath seated opposite him on a stool. Brian looks a little strange somehow when I first notice him- like he’s just heard some weird or disturbing news. Then he sees me and waves me over. Horvath looks around to see me. 

“Hello, Detective Horvath,” I say politely, extending my hand when I reach the counter area. Brian smirks. He seems to get a kick out of my polite manners, although he’s as polite or moreso when with his clients- just for him, it was a matter of being self-taught to be polite. While his mother is publicly genteel, it’s in an incredibly snobbish sort of way- I really wouldn’t call her polite. And in private, most of Brian’s modeling involved screaming, drunken rages, neglect, and beatings.

“Just Carl,” he says, taking my hand. “Nice to see you again, Justin.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, glancing over at Brian.


	7. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: 3RD PERSON

 

Brian cocks an eyebrow in Horvath’s direction, indicating to Justin that he has the answers. Justin turns his eyes expectantly towards the man.

The detective clears his throat. “Well, first of all, I’ve been fired from the force.” Justin blinks in surprise, pulling out a stool to take a seat. 

“Why?” Justin asks, wondering both why he was fired- and why the hell he’d come to the loft to tell him and Brian about it.

“The official reasons I was given were that the Kemp murder was mishandled, and insubordination. I helped undermine Chief Stockwell’s campaign.”

“But, you didn’t have anything to do with the Kemp case, did you? And what did you do that was considered insubordinate? Why would—“

“Justin…” Brian interrupts, silencing him so that Horvath can continue. Justin shuts his mouth, giving Brian a slightly resentful look.

“As I said, those were the reasons I was given. Ineptitude and insubordination,” Horvath continues. “But, I suspect the real reason I was fired was because Stockwell believes that I know more than he would like me to. About Kenneth Reikert’s death—“

“The suicide you mean?” Justin interrupts. Brian rolls his eyes as if to say, ‘shut the fuck UP already!’ Justin gets the hint and is quiet.

“Yes, about his death, and about Kemp’s. As you may know, I was the one to find Reikert’s body in the garage. Before the investigators arrived to record everything and collect evidence, I poked around a little. I’ve seen many suicide and murder victims, and while on the surface Reikert’s wounds appeared to be self-inflicted, it seemed to me that the angle of the shot wasn’t quite right. Blowing your head off with a shot gun takes a bit of effort- the barrel is long, the trigger is far enough away from your head that in order to pull it, your arm has to be completely extended, or nearly so. There are a limited number of angles you can manage in those circumstances. Reikert was not very tall- he was barely tall enough to make the force, in fact. His arms weren’t very long. And it appeared to me impossible that he was able to inflict that wound himself. Physically impossible.” 

Horvath pauses, thoughtful. “So, I went inside the house to see if there was anything I could find- I had no clue what I was looking for. At that point, I really had no idea whether my suspicions were founded, or if I had simply misread the crime scene. But, given the facts that had come to light recently— regarding the link between Jason Kemp’s death and Reikert that Brian and that kid had brought to light—I followed my gut.”

Brian sighs quietly, gets up and goes to the fridge. Pulling out a bottle of water, he resumes his stance at the counter and looks at the former cop, listening. Suddenly realizing he hasn’t offered either of them a drink, he proffers the bottle towards Horvath, then Justin. Each shakes their heads no. Justin can tell Brian is restless, agitated. His expression is similar to the one he had worn the afternoon before, when Rodney and Justin’s mom were talking about the cop’s suicide.

“Anyway, I found several items in Reikert’s bedroom. In his bookcase and his nightstand. I didn’t stick around for very long, as CSI was due to arrive and I didn’t want to explain what I was doing snooping around in the house, picking up evidence.” The detective tossed an address book, a small bundle of letters and a few photos onto the counter. 

“So.” Justin is still puzzled. “OK. But why come to Brian, to us? I don’t understand.”

“I wasn’t sure who else to go to. The police surely won’t investigate this any further- it’s considered a closed case: suicide. And I wouldn’t push to reopen the case if I were still on the force, either- having seen a cop of 14 years get fired for what appear to be flimsy reasons. Actually, I went and talked to Debbie first, and she suggested I talk to you and Kinney here,” he gestures towards Brian, “because Hunter worked with you to collect the damning evidence on Reikert- she believes that you—er, Kinney rather, might get a call from Hunter while he and Michael are on the run. I guess in Michael’s brief phone calls with both Ben and his mother, he has mentioned Hunter’s continued…” Horvath pauses again, a little uncomfortable, “er, he has said that Hunter still harbors quite a… crush on Kinney. And Debbie believes that the kid might try to call here. And if he does, that Kinney might be able to get him to talk more about what he knows—“

Brian scoffs. Having tried so far to suppress it, he snorts an ironic laugh. “What he knows? And me? Why the fuck would he be willing to talk to me any more than he’d be willing to talk to Mikey or Ben? And why do you think he knows more than he’s already said?” He   
laughs again. “Crush. Jesus Christ. Teenagers.” Realizing what he has just said and remembering how Hunter had treated Justin during their few encounters, he glances quickly at the blond. Justin isn’t smiling, and his jaw is set. ‘Fuck,’ Brian thinks.

“Because,” the former cop answers, “first of all… Michael and Ben are like parents, or as close to parents as Hunter has right now. Talking about this with overly concerned ‘elders’ is pretty rare for teens. But, it may be that he would feel more comfortable talking to you. If not for any other reason than he wants to impress you, have a reason for you to be in contact. I really need to find him to talk to him, Kinney, and he refuses to say where he and Michael are. And Michael is going along with it- short of telling Ben the other day that they were in Altoona, neither has said further where they are or where they are heading, to anyone. Michael is worried that everyone’s phones are tapped or something, and they could be traced- I wish I could convince him to at least let me know where they are. I’d like to talk to Hunter- in person. And finally,” Horvath says, taking a deep breath, “there’s this.” He tosses a folded up letter in front of Brian. Justin reaches over to take it.

Unfolding it, Justin reads aloud:

“Sweetheart,” he began, 

“You know by now how sorry I am that you had to find out about Jason the way that you did. You also know how much I love you- we have a bond that is unique, that will never die. It’s just when you are away for such long stretches at a time, I get lonely. Jason is a twink, sweet, naïve, easy to please- but he means little to me, and nothing compared to you. I hadn’t known that your son and Jason were friends- I didn’t make the connection when you wrote me about your son’s friend from the vaseline towers. Believe me, I was shocked to find you and Jimmy at the door as Jason was leaving- I hadn’t expected you to come over without calling first. I know that sounds lame- but I didn’t want you to find out about him like that. I was glad when Jason and Jimmy went off to play Nintendo- I don’t think either of them caught the importance of that moment… but, Christ, Gary, the hurt in your eyes stabbed me like a knife. It stabbed me like a knife, and I never want to see that look again. I like Jason very much, but never like I do you- I love you. It’s so ironic that your son’s best friend turned out to be Jason- again, please believe that I had no idea. Please believe me, and understand that he is just there for me when I’m lonely, when you’re gone. You know how much I love you. 

Gary, I want you here with me. Bring Jimmy. We can be a family. Your wife is a cunt- I know you feel guilty for having left Jimmy with her, but he’s with you now- you had to leave her, Gary- she’s dangerous, vicious. You didn’t have a job at that time, you had no means to support Jimmy, so you were right to leave him with her. How could you know what she would do? She abused you, your son, and both of you needed to leave her for good. And thank goodness you both are now safe and sound, together again. Please move in with me, Gary. You are welcome here. Jason will be history if you commit to me. We can move anywhere you want, now that I’m no longer with the police force- I will follow you anywhere. 

Stockwell’s campaign is going well for him, and I’ve been laying low. I can’t begrudge him for asking me to resign the force. When he found out that I was gay, he was wary of me staying on the force. He said it would ruin his chances of becoming mayor. I must admit, I think he might have found out about Jason, although he didn’t mention him. Still, he saved my life seven years ago, and for that, I owe him everything. I know you can’t stand him, but he’s really a good man. As much as he has changed over the last year or so, I have to believe that his heart is still good, that he will do the right thing. 

Please remember always: I love you. Write soon. I miss you.  
Forever,   
Ken.” 

They are quiet for some time. Brian chews lightly on his thumb, thinking. After mulling over the surprising revelations he’s just heard, he wonders, ‘Why did he have a letter from himself to his lover?’

“Why did he have this letter?” Justin asks. Brian lets loose with a soft chuckle. Fucking mindreader, that boy.

“What do you mean?” Carl asks.

“Well, he must not have sent it.” Justin explains. 

Carl pauses, then nods. “I guess not...”

“When was it written?” Brian asks. 

Justin glances down at the piece of paper in his fingers. “About two months before Debbie found Jason Kemp in the dumpster behind the diner,” he remarks. Brian raises his eyebrows, not sure if that is really significant or not.

“Listen, boys,” Carl interrupts, “I’m going to leave this stuff with you this afternoon so you can read through it. I have to get back to Debbie’s- she says Michael is planning to call at 3, and I want to be there in case Hunter might be willing to talk to me- tell me where they’re at. It’s worth a shot.”

Justin places the letter back onto the counter and stands up. “Sorry to hear about your being let go from the force,” he says, again offering his hand. Brian just takes a gulp of water and straightens up. Carl shakes Justin’s hand and heads for the door.

“You boys don’t mind me telling you about all of this? I know it’s out of the blue, and I realize it’s not any business of yours. Or mine, either, perhaps. But if my suspicions are correct, Stockwell is a very dangerous man who still has way too much power... and from what I have seen of you two in action, as sleazy and underhanded as it was, you’re pretty effective forces to reckon with...”

“Detective Horvath--” Brian starts.

“Carl.” Horvath corrects.

Brian sighs, “OK, whatever. Carl. I have one question. Why the fuck do you care about all of this? Besides losing your job, which may or may not be for the reasons you think: what the hell do you care what happens to a bunch of fags? Stockwell doesn’t pose any threat to Pittsburgh’s glorious breeder population. Only the perverted queers have to watch their backs...” Justin thinks Brian sounds pretty rude, and he looks at his feet, a bit embarrassed.

Carl is quiet a moment. “Well, Kinney, I guess you could say that I care because I’m in love with a loud-mouthed, red-headed waitress who doesn’t take shit without a fight... and who is a self-proclaimed advocate for all you ‘perverted queers’.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Ah. The love of a good woman. Fuck that...” he mumbles.

“Brian!” Justin interjects. God, sometimes he can be such an ass, Justin thinks.

Horvath ignores Brian’s sarcastic remark. “And,” he continues, “having learned what little I have through reading those letters, this woman I love has a ‘perverted queer’ son- your best friend- who is on the run with a potential dead boy. I can’t be sure, but that Hunter kid may know a lot more than he’s let on so far- that’s why I want to find him. He may be in a lot of danger. And Michael may very well find himself in the line of fire.” 

Brian looks at the former detective soberly, letting what he said sink in.

“However you want to put it, Kinney, here I am. You can help me if you want. Or not. It’s up to you. But I know you love your friend very much. And even if you didn’t,” he smiled, trying to lighten things a little bit, “I am certain that you know Debbie’s wrath. So I would think about it carefully. After all, it was her idea that I talk to you to elicit your help. Not mine.”

But Brian doesn’t find any humor at all in what the man is saying. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Kinney. I’ll get the number from Debbie.” With that, he slides open the loft door and lets himself out. Brian turns his eyes towards the collection of items strewn on the counter.

“Fuck me...” Brian mutters. Justin just stands there.


	8. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: IN THIS STORY, BRIAN NEVER BOTTOMED FOR JUSTIN IN SEASON 2

I look over at Brian, who is standing by the counter staring at the small pile of evidence Horvath has just dumped on him. “Brian, nothing’s going to happen to Mikey,” I venture. My tone of voice doesn’t sound very convincing though, and I wish I hadn’t said anything at all.

He says nothing but he snaps out of his reverie and looks at me. Then he grabs the stack of letters and heads over to the bedroom, flops onto the bed, and begins to read. I walk over and lie next to him, reaching over to grab one of the letters. The one I grab was dated a few weeks prior to the one I had read aloud when Horvath was here.

My True Love,

You will not believe this! I’ve found Jimmy! You remember I told you that he had run away from home about two months after I left Rita, or so she had told me in that particularly bitchy phone message... anyway, since getting that message, I’ve been looking for him- I didn’t tell you about it because I wanted to do it on my own- and I was worried that, if you found him, and he was involved in something illegal, you would have to either arrest him and put him in juvie, or you’d have to compromise your position in the force. And I know that now is not the time to rock the boat, given the pressure you are under from that asshole ex-partner of yours. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I found him in the so-called ‘vaseline towers’ on Grant- you of all people know about that place. He hasn’t told me anything about what he had done for money… I didn’t ask him. I didn’t- I don’t- really want to know. 

One thing he did tell me is that Rita had pimped him out after I left - pimped him OUT! Ken, can I get her arrested? Is his word enough to put her in prison for that? He insists the ‘johns’ won’t dare testify. I am so fucking angry, I could kill that bitch. I feel like shit for having left him with her- I knew she had a violent temper at times, but I never, ever imagined her capable of stooping that low. Her own goddamned son!! Money-grubbing, heartless cunt…However I can do it, I swear I am going to get her. That kid has been through enough- coming out, getting beat up at school, getting slapped around by his mother at home, living on the fucking streets… for her to do this to him… I’m going to fucking kill that bitch if I ever see her again.

But, true love, there is a happy ending: he’s living with me now, back in school, hanging out with friends like a normal teen. He has a friend from the towers, I can’t recall his name- it begins with “J”— damn- I forget what it is. But Jimmy calls him “J”. Anyway, he’s over a lot, and often spends the night. He’s a decent kid. On Jimmy’s insistence, I’ve agreed not to talk to the authorities or try to contact his parents (Jimmy says they’re dead)- apparently he ran away from foster care, and so long as he’s going to school and comes over here to do homework and keep Jimmy company while I’m out on the road, I’ll let him be. I know you don’t approve, but please don’t do anything. He’s a good kid, and he’s doing well.

Which brings me to: I’ll be home from Santa Monica in two weeks! I can’t wait to see you, and I want you to meet Jimmy! I’ll make my famous tuna casserole with potato chips. I miss you more than you can imagine. Write me soon- my laptop is on the fritz still, so I’m not getting emails at the moment. Besides, I so adore getting letters from you. The hotel address is on the envelope- I hope to hear from you soon! I am SO excited for you to meet my son! 

Love and kisses,  
Gary 

I look over to Brian, whose mouth is open as he reads the letter he holds in his fingers.

“What is it, Brian?”

“This is another letter from Reikert that he must not have sent. It’s dated the day before Carl found his body. He says he hasn’t heard from this Gary guy for weeks, and he hopes he’s not angry with him. Angry about what, he doesn’t say.” 

“Yeah. So?”

Brian looks down at the letter. “Then he says that he believes Stockwell had Jason killed when he’d found out about his and Reikert’s affair and–“

“But I thought he was just forced to resign...”

Brian looks at me, a slightly annoyed expression on his face. So, sue me. I interrupt people sometimes. He continues, “Well, he was, yeah, but he wasn’t really sure about that, remember? In that letter you read while Carl was here, he said he’d resigned under pressure because of the gay thing- at that time, he only suspected that Stockwell had found out about Jason and--”

“--Still, why kill Jason if the problem had disappeared? I mean, Reikert had already willingly and quietly resigned...?”

“Jesus, Justin. Stop interrupting me. According to Reikert here, he believes that Jason had started blackmailing Stockwell with something- he isn’t- er, wasn’t sure what, but he warns Gary that Jimmy was probably in on it. He thinks that Stockwell might try to get to Jimmy- and might try to through Gary. Jason was killed around the time Stockwell’s ‘family friendly’ campaign started to hit the news; Reikert seemed to be worried that Jimmy or Gary- or both- would end up dead as well; that Stockwell would assume Gary would know whatever it was that Jason was blackmailing him with - because, presumably, his son knew.”

Brian looks at me and folds the letter, putting it back on the stack. “He also says that there are a couple of queers- a tall, dark-haired hottie,” he grins, “and a shorter blond, who he describes as being ‘uglier than hell’,” he looks at me and I roll my eyes and he grins at me before he continues, “He says that the hottie and the troll have been poking around and have gone to the cops with evidence linking him to Jason’s death. He insists it’s not true, and says he’s leaving town the next day, before he’s either indicted or killed. Or both.” He pauses, serious now. “One thing Reikert doesn’t say here is that the evidence me and the troll- er, you- had, was his sperm, which was obtained the good old fashioned way by Gary’s own son...”

“So... the next day…” I pause. “That was the day he was found shot in his garage. That was what…? About 4 months after Debbie found Kemp, isn’t it?” I reach over and scan the letter he just finished. “He does not call me a troll, you ass. It just says ‘two guys’. Jerk.”

He ignores me and picks up the letter I had been reading and skims it. “I guess I can see why Horvath thinks Hunter might know more than he’s let on....”

\-------------------------------------

POV: JUSTIN STILL  
We continue to read the letters one by one as the minutes and hours pass. At one point, I see Brian shaking his head like he’s had enough. “Fuck this! Who the fuck writes letters anymore? And smell this!” He holds the envelope that he has in his hand under my nose. I have to laugh. It smells like Old Spice. “I mean, Jesus! What a couple of nelly queens! Scented love letters! Stupid romantic bullshit…”

I let that last remark pass, and pick up another letter. 

By 5PM, I realize we’d passed the whole afternoon perusing the letters, talking about the chronology of ‘events’ as best we could make out, and trying to determine what the mystery we were dealing with actually fucking was. My stomach had started growling at 4; now, it’s fucking roaring. 

Brian gets up, casting a sideways glance at my stomach, grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed, and heads into the living room. He spreads the blanket, goes over to the counter, picks up the box of food I had packed for lunch, and plops it on the floor. Sitting cross-legged next to it on the blanket, he looks over at me, arches an eyebrow, rests his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand. He waits expectantly. 

“Well?” He says, finally.

I must be staring at him like an idiot because his expression is a mixture of impatience and amusement. “You wanted a floor picnic? You finally get one.” 

I grin, getting up from the bed with a grunt. My back is stiff from lying there so long. I walk over and sit next to him on the blanket. “Even if it is…”

“...Ridiculously romantic,” we both say together. He snorts derisively, but I’m smiling. I grab the wine and the corkscrew and he sets out a couple of plastic ‘frat party kegger’ cups. “Lovely stemware,” he comments as I pour the wine. 

“Acme’s finest.”

“Jesus, it’s already practically dark out- Justin, turn on that light. I can’t see my fucking hand in front of my face, let alone my dinner.”

I have a better idea, getting up to walk over to the kitchen. I come back with two emergency candles and a plate. Brian rolls his eyes. “Fuck, Justin… is this what you and Ian did every night? Did you read Danielle Steele to each other before sex?”

“Shut up, Brian. You can suffer a little candlelight.”

“Candlelight is for 1803. ELECTRICITY is for 2003.” He gets up and turns on the lamp over my head. Whatever the fuck. The candles are still lit. I’m happy.

After we eat our sandwiches (Brian bitches because I put a little bit of butter on his), we crack the second bottle of wine, and lay back on the blanket at an angle to each other, the tops of our heads touching. “So, what the hell do we do?” Brian asks finally.

“Fuck if I know,” I reply. “But honestly, I don’t think Michael and Hunter are in any immediate danger right now- no one knows where the fuck they are. I wonder if Hunter’s talked to Michael and that’s why he’s being so secretive about where they are...? What’s kind of weird is that Hunter knew Reikert before he fucked him- and Reikert knew him… and about this whole Kemp/Stockwell mess.”

“Yeah. That IS weird. I wonder if Reikert ever did tell ol’Gair about fucking his kid.” Brian pauses, thinking. “Still, I don’t even know what it is I would ask Hunter if I did talk to him. I mean, okay,” he raises his hand and starts counting off the few bits of information we know. “We know his dad and Reikert had a… a relationship,” I can’t help but glance over at Brian, who is practically gagging on uttering that word. He gets hung up on such small shit, I think to myself. He raises a second finger, “Moving on… Reikert had a thing on the side with that kid, Jason; it wasn’t terribly serious, but I guess it was enough to piss Gary off. Not only because he considered it ‘cheating’, but the kid was a friend of his son’s.” 

“Uh huh. Did you read that one drippy letter from Gary...? The one apologizing to his ‘true love’ for losing his temper about that?”

“Yeah.” Brian sighs quietly. “Actually, to me, it sounded like he more than lost his temper- it sounded like he’d gone completely ballistic.”

“Well, he was jealous.”

Brian gets up on his elbow, takes a sip of wine, puts down the red plastic cup, and lies back down with a quiet ‘umph’. “I guess their arrangement wasn’t as copasetic as ours is...” He smacks his lips, emphasizing each consonant in ‘copasetic’- ‘co-pah-set-tick’. I don’t say anything. While I accept our ‘arrangement’, I think I’d be pissed too, if Brian had a regular ‘fuck-buddy’. But, he doesn’t. He never has- except for me. Although, that’s not what I am to Brian. I know that. But damned if I don’t like to reinforce to myself- AND Brian- that I’m much more than that by teasing him, calling myself his ‘fuck buddy’. He doesn’t correct me, but inevitably he gets moody and short tempered and pissy as hell. All of which is typical Brian-speak for ‘No, you aren’t. So shut the hell up and stop fishing to hear whatever the fuck it is you’re waiting to hear. You already know. Fucker.’ It always makes me grin, even if it means I have to suffer through him being a complete asshole for the rest of the day. 

But I haven’t teased him about that lately- I don’t know, maybe it’s because he hasn’t been tricking at all for awhile now, but he got genuinely angry the last time I ragged on him.

Michael and I should put together a dictionary of Brianisms, I think absently to myself. 

“Jealous or not,” Brian continues, bringing my mind back to what we’re talking about, “It sounded like Gary had been... had been violently angry at Kenny boy....” He pauses. “I grew up hearing apologies like that, and it feels to me from reading that letter that that was no ordinary argument.” He smirks, irony in his voice.

I don’t know what to say. I know what I feel: anger at the Kinney’s. Concern for Brian. But I know from experience not to ask questions or talk to Brian much about his childhood. I pull up onto my elbow, take a long draught of my wine, and lay back down.

After a minute or two, Brian shakes his head, apparently deciding to focus on something else. “Anyway, so,” he raises a third finger, “We also know that Reikert believed that Stockwell had Jason killed- that he believed Jason was blackmailing Stockwell with something, and took it too far.” 

I reach over and pry up a fourth finger, “We also know that Reikert believed Hunter was in on blackmailing Stockwell- which meant both Gary and Hunter were in danger. Or, at least, so he believed.” 

Brian’s thoughtful. “Fuck, I wish they’d dated all of the letters. So many are without dates, it’s impossible to put them into chronological order. But that letter Reikert never even sent - I guess he was busy having his brains blown out all over his newly washed car.”

“I wonder what he was blackmailing Stockwell with...” I say.

“Fuck if I know- unless it’s the obvious: Stockwell’s partner of 16 or so years had a 15 year old fuck buddy from the Vaseline towers as well as a lover whose gay son was his fuck buddy’s best friend. Sorta casts a pall over Stockwell’s ‘family friendly’ right wing republican message.” Brian suddenly snorts, “Did you read that letter from Gary asking why the hell Reikert stayed Stockwell’s partner for so long, and why he’d stayed in the closet that whole time?” he chuckles lightly. “I think I’d like ol’Gair, even though he seems to be a cross between a breeder with an anger management problem and a nelly queen Sappho.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes. “Jesus,” Brian says abruptly, “And can you believe that shit about Hunter’s mother? And here I thought Joanie was the ultimate in Freakishly Dysfunctional Mothers. That bitch has her beat by a mile...”

I turn onto my side, my head on my elbow, looking at Brian’s face upside-down. The candles flicker a bit with my movement, and I see the shadows from his eyelashes dance on his cheeks. I don’t say anything, but I think Joanie is pretty well matched with Rita. Two women who should never have been mothers. Although, if Joanie hadn’t gotten knocked up, or had gotten an abortion like Jack had wanted, Brian wouldn’t be lying here, a few inches away from me. Brian’s right- I’m lucky to have a mother like I do. Brian shifts and looks up at me hovering over his head. 

“What?” He asks. 

“What what?” I reply, innocently.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re looking at me like a lunatic again, Justin. I hate that. And don’t you fucking dare ask me what I’m thinking.”

I smile, trying my best to look wicked. “Okay,” I say, “then how about I make it so that I know what you’re thinking…?” With that, I lean over and kiss him upside-down, his chin softly bumping under my nose. I can feel his mouth smiling under my lips as he kisses back. He rolls around so that we’re eye to eye and reaches his hand behind my head, drawing me into a passionate kiss. 

“Now this, I like!” He grins, kissing me again.

“I want to train you to like floor picnics,” I say, “if you get sex after every floor picnic, just mentioning the words will start you drooling like one of Pavlov’s dogs…” I shove the plate with the candles out of my way and lay next to him, reaching my hand under his shirt, savoring the feel of his warm skin against my palm and fingers. Brian shrugs off his shirt and pulls off the wife-beater, then reaches for my blue tee, flipping it over my head and tossing it behind him. 

“Slurp, slurp,” he whispers into my ear, nibbling on my earlobe. I feel his hands on my bare back, pulling me to his chest, our nipples, our bellies, rub against each other. My cock is instantly hard.

“Fuck…” Brian grabs my ass, pulling me against his hard-on, grinding against me. I gasp, and push him onto his back, laying on top of him and moving my cock against his, up and down, around, touching every nerve.

“Get out of those fucking jeans,” he commands as he unbuttons his own, yanking them down to his ankles, impatiently kicking to free his feet. Apparently, I’m not fast enough because Brian growls and yanks open the fly, popping the button right off, pulling the pants off me in one fell motion. 

He isn’t wearing underwear and I stare at his penis; licking my lips, I take it in my hand, stroke it, caress it, slip my hand down to cup and fondle his balls. He’s so hard that his balls are taut against the shaft. He moans and pulls my head towards him for another ferocious kiss. All I am aware of is the feeling of his beautiful cock and balls in my grasp, his lips, tongue, skin… I vaguely realize he’s impatiently pulling off my briefs, uttering a guttural moan deep into the back of my throat as he kisses me and reaches hungrily for my cock.

“Ahhhgh..” is all I can manage when he grabs my dick, stroking it roughly, impatiently, like he can’t get enough of it. I move with him, his hand, matching every stroke with a restless thrust. I can feel the slickness of my own pre-cum lubricating his hand as he continues to pump my cock. I feel like coming already- and I don’t want this to end. “Brian…”

“Jussstin…”

Suddenly I feel myself being picked up, carried through the air and dumped onto the bed. Brian stands over me, his engorged cock nearly touching his belly it’s so hard. I reach for him, pull him down on top of me; I envelope my hands around both of our dicks, rubbing them both, slicking the leaking pre-cum from both of us up and down. He reaches over for the lube and a condom. I look at him as he hands me the condom to put it on him. 

“Brian.” Is all I say. I don’t want to think. But I do. I think, we’re both negative. He hasn’t been fucking around lately. I certainly haven’t. I really want to feel him. Him. 

“Justin, no.” He says, apparently intuiting what I am thinking. “No.”

I realize later how childish I am… but right now, it seems like my only course of action to get what I want. I toss the condom across the room. ‘Like there aren’t about a thousand more where that came from,’ a voice in the back of my mind says.

Brian lies down on his side beside me, sighing heavily. I can tell he’s working hard to resist the heat of the moment. “Justin.”

“Brian.” I hear my voice; I sound so matter-of-fact. ‘Jesus, Justin,’ I think to myself. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ But I know I won’t.

He rolls his eyes. Yep: childish. I’m being such a teenager. I can see that’s what he’s thinking. Well, I am a teenager. But I do resist my instinct to attack him- I let him let things cool down.

“We’ve talked about this, Justin.”

“I know. But, we’re negative. We’re…we’re in a…” I shut up. Push too hard and he’ll bolt- or kick me out and bolt the door, anyway.

He groans and flops onto his back. “Justin… fuck. Fuck me! Why are you doing this now? We’ve been through this… ”

“A long time ago, Brian, and we weren’t in the same place then as we are now. You weren’t… you weren’t in the same place.”

He sighs. “So far, your Pavlovian scheme to get me to like floor picnics is failing miserably,” he says, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. He offers me one, which I take. He lights it for me. I don’t say anything. As he smokes, he looks at the ceiling; he seems to be considering… considering something. I’m hoping I know what.

I lay there, watching his face, trying to determine what he’s thinking. I don’t dare ask, of course. I’d probably be the next one found in the dumpster if I were to ask that at this point. 

“Quit staring at me.” He sounds miffed.

I sigh and lay back. I glance over at the condom I’d tossed across the room. 

“Justin.”

I look at him.

“Not yet.” He turns his head to look at me dead on, and his expression is thoughtful, serious and intense. I pause before arguing. Instead, I wait for Brian to say more.

He reaches over and puts his hand on my cheek, stroking it softly with his thumb, looking into my eyes. His behavior is so mysterious; I have no idea what he’s thinking. Except, I kind of do. Well. And don’t. I reach up and clasp his hand in mine, letting it rest on my face. 

“But-“ I say quietly.

“But we will.” Brian says, even more quietly. He takes his hand away from my face and reaches behind me. He hands me a condom. I look into his eyes- something is different. As I rip the foil wrapper and reach down, Brian grabs me by the wrist.

“Here, let me…” Brian says.

Brian takes the condom and reaches for my cock. He takes my dick in his hand, and looks at me, then suddenly kisses me- hard. I sigh, and lean back as he kisses my neck, my chest, my nipples, sucking gently on my right nipple, tugging at the ring. I can feel as he unfurls the condom on my penis- the sensation shoots through me like an electric shock. 

“Brian?”

His tongue pokes into my belly button, his fingers play lightly down in between my legs, walking over to caress my balls; I’m so hard, I’m really not sure what the fuck is going on…

“And I got new lube. It’s flavored.” I hear Brian say.

“Cinnamon?” I ask, wondering what the fuck I’m doing making conversation.

“No.” Brian’s tongue makes a long, delectable slurp up the shaft of my cock….

“Banana.” 

Brian shifts, and levels his eyes on mine- the small smile in them quickly becomes dark, serious. “Justin…” he says.

I know. 

And I’m terrified.

“Brian, how?” 

He throws me a classic Kinney smirk, “Well, how do you like it? Over the shoulders, doggy style, belly to ass…?? It’s…” Brian pauses; then he adds, gently: “It’s your call, Justin.”

“Brian, are you…?”

“Justin, hush,” Brian says softly, raising a finger to my lips. I shut my mouth with a clomp that would have been rather comedic in a different context. Brian just laughs lightly. “Don’t think, Justin… Do.” Brian fixes his gaze on me; there’s a tenderness in his eyes, in his voice, that makes my heart pound and my stomach flutter. “Sunshine,” he continues, “you’re intuitive. Go with that. Don’t worry. Trust yourself. I do.” 

How he knows exactly what to say to me- how he always does- makes me wobbly. If I hadn’t been lying on my back, I know I would have reached out for him to steady myself. Instead, I smile and lean up to kiss him. I push away my thoughts, my doubts, my fears, and roll over onto this beautiful man, running my hands all over his heated skin. Jesus, he’s just incredible. I run my hands eagerly down his long torso, down the insides of his smooth thighs, along his lean, muscular calves; I grasp Brian’s ankles and lift them over my shoulders, pushing myself up to face him. I want to see him, watch him, kiss his gorgeous full lips; I love his face. And I want this to be beautiful- as beautiful as when he makes love to me- I really want this to be good for him- to be ‘amaaaaazing’ as he likes to say. I want to make him come so hard, shoot so hard that he can’t remember his own name, like he makes me- while I’ve topped before, I have, plenty of times- I haven’t with Brian. And I’m damned well going to try to make this one fucking incredible, memorable fuck for Brian. I want to make love to him. I’ve never done that topping- I’ve only fucked tricks. This is Brian.

As I maneuver our bodies, he’s completely compliant, watching me and allowing me to adjust his position however I want. I grab the lube and squeeze out a fistful of the stuff- more than I need… but I smear it on my cock, and slaver it on my hands…I reach down, looking at what I’m doing… Brian’s ass is right there, and I make sure my middle finger is well lubed and then wangle it up there. It’s so WARM, and I look at Brian’s face; he’s closed his eyes. I slowly push in a second finger, scissoring them slightly, opening him up. He’s so tight! I begin to realize we’re both breathing heavily, moaning quietly…

My fingers continue to play inside Brian, and I kiss, suck, my way down between Brian’s legs. His knees are bent, folded over my shoulders; I push back his thighs and lick his beautiful, pink, naked cock. I withdraw my fingers and my tongue wanders down to lick and slaver his hole. I have never tongued Brian down here, and I’m fascinated, thrilled- and incredibly turned on. My dick feels like it’s about to explode.

“Mmmmmmm…..” I can hear my tongue as it wriggles and fucks Brian’s hole, which quivers and spasms with the attention it’s getting.

Brian lets out an intense moan and moves slightly, spreading himself wider.

I withdraw my tongue and snuff upwards, my tongue playing, tasting his balls, biting his inner thighs. My mouth slurps, sucks, kisses, licks all around his dick, but I avoid touching him there, and his guttural noises become insistent, impatient. When he begins to buck, his dick demanding attention, I engulf him, I swallow him, relaxing my throat muscles, savoring the feel of the head of his cock, the soft skin, pressing, hot, against the back of my throat; as my head bobs up and down on his shaft, I roll my tongue around the head, gently poking my tongue into the slit, tasting Brian’s unique salty, creamy sweet pre-cum leaking there. Brian’s taste is so incredible, if I could bottle it and sell it, I’d make a million overnight. I moan slightly, glancing up at Brian, his head back against the pillow, mouth slightly open, his tongue licking his lips as he groans with pleasure. The sight of him makes me moan harder, makes ME harder, if that’s fucking possible, and I spread his legs on either side of me, I start tonguing his balls. I lift my head a little bit, to continue to watch his expression as I slide my finger back into Brian’s hole, moving it around, again fascinated with how warm and tight and velvety it feels. His eyes open and he looks down at me, his tongue still playing on his lips. I slip in a second finger, keeping my eyes on his, and lower my mouth to his dick, taking long, delicious licks like I’m savoring a Popsicle before I take him completely in my mouth again, moving in rhythm with my fingers. There’s only so much more I can take before I cum simply by pleasuring him. I must get a look in my eyes because soon Brian very tenderly cups his hand beneath my chin and raises me up to his face.

“Justin….” Is all he whispers before he kisses me so deeply I lose my sense of balance and my elbow buckles and I fall against him, my fingers still inside him. Brian chuckles softly as I regain my position. I push myself up to meet his lips again. I look into his eyes, which are smiling, twinkling with genuine affection.

“Shut up!” I whisper, smiling as I kiss him. “You know what? You literally take my breath away, Brian…” 

He stops smiling and pulls back, regarding me critically. I gently withdraw my fingers. “Justin,” he starts. I wait, leaning down to kiss the hollow in the middle of his collarbone. I lightly kiss my way up the side of his neck, around his jawline, ending with a kiss on his lips. I reach down and stroke his cock, and turn to look into his eyes, silently waiting for him to continue what he was starting to say. He looks pained for a moment, as though he doesn’t know how to proceed. But I… I know. I kiss him again as I tantalize his cock with my fingers, slicking the pre-cum in long strokes up and down. I can feel his lips under mine, curling into a smile before he leans into the kiss with unexpected passion.

When we part lips, I find my eyes have closed and I’m gasping for breath. “Brian…?”

Brian reaches down and finds my dick, hard as a rock. “In a minute, Sunshine... Banana is a favorite flavor of mine.” With that, he pushes me onto my back, kissing my neck with a softness that makes me shiver- it almost tickles, it’s so intense; I lie back as his tongue slides down my chest, circling my nipples. He kisses and sucks his way down past my belly, nips at my inner thighs and gently sucks my balls. I don’t know how much more of this I can take before I burst- cock, heart, head, soul- just burst. He takes me into his mouth, adeptly slavering my dick with his tongue, carefully sucking at the head. “Aggghhh… Brian! Br…”  
He pulls away, leaving me teetering on the edge, panting, sweating, just about to come but just able to pull back. 

He shifts his position so that his lips are millimeters from my ear. “Justin: Fuck me.” He whispers. His warm breath tickles and I feel a deep shiver ripple throughout my body. Brian rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him; I reach again for the lube and squirt more into my palm, slathering it onto my cock, and into Brian’s tight hole. I pull his legs over my shoulders, his impossibly long legs, and lick my lips, looking at his expression. He reaches up and pulls me to him for a fierce kiss; I can’t believe this is happening, but I don’t pause to think. I position the head of my cock at his hole and push. Brian winces briefly and inhales sharply as I push past the tight ring of muscles; I pause there, allowing him to get used to my being inside him. As his expression relaxes, I slowly begin to push further in- it feels so… so fucking glorious inside Brian, so warm, so tight, so soft, so fucking amazing, it’s difficult not to simply start thrusting wantonly; but in the back of my mind, I know this is a… a huge deal. And, I don’t want to hurt him. So I take it slow, watching his face, watching his breathing.

I pull out slightly, and inadvertently I make one hard shove into him and I’m all the way in; “OhmyGOHHH…” I cannot speak; I pull out and thrust in again, Brian’s muscles gripping me, pulling me in. “Briii…” I lean down and kiss him hard, he pushes against me, shoving me into him repeatedly, making my cock thump his prostate with every thrust. I quickly recover my rhythm and take control, our tongues deep in each other’s mouths, my cock pounding Brian’s ass. I have topped before; I have. But I’m not used to being in control of… well, of Brian. Of us. I have this strange feeling of connection with him, anticipating what he wants, where he is, what he’s feeling…

Fuuuuuck. Fuck!! This is utter euphoric bliss; I feel myself on the edge, that familiar coiling sensation building as I’m about to come- too soon. Too soon! I don’t want this ever to end. I can feel Brian tense, groaning into my mouth, pulling me to him, into him. He’s near the edge, as well, and I reach between us and stroke his cock in synch with my quickening thrusts.

“JUSSSTIN!” Brian yells out suddenly and I feel the unbelievably strong waves of his orgasm tighten and spasm around my cock, his cum spurting onto my hand, onto his chest, on my face and I’m screaming myself, shooting my load deep into Brian, filling him, filling the condom to capacity. I have never come so hard in my life- everything is dizzying white light, stars, fucking super novas flashing behind my eyes; I’m rocking inside him, feeling the last tremors of his orgasm gripping my penis as wave after wave washes through me, wracking my every nerve with indescribable pleasure- never before have I experienced this degree of pleasure, of being completely in tune with Brian. I collapse on top of him, spent, still inside; I feel the warmth and stickiness of his cum smearing between us. I reach up to lick the cum from my fingers, savoring the heady, creamy flavor. 

“Holy shit. Holy fucking SHIT. I love you. Shit…. I love you!” It’s my voice. I think.

I open my eyes to see Brian looking at me, his face glistening with a thin film of sweat; I lean in and kiss him, all over his face, tasting his sweat, his cum still slick, creamy on my tongue. He kisses my cheek, licking up the stream of cum that had landed there. Then I kiss him on the mouth, my tongue slipping in, more gently this time; he sucks my tongue into his mouth, tasting himself, his sweat, his cum. I can vaguely taste a trace of banana and I smile. 

I rest my head on his chest, listening as his heart and breathing slow as he calms. I never want to move. “I. Never. Want. To. Move…” That is my voice.

Brian laughs a little and reaches up to lift my chin to kiss me again. “Sunshine,” he purrs, “you have now topped the untoppable Brian Kinney.” After the kiss, he leans his lips towards my ear, “And you were- you ARE- amaaaaazing…”

I look at him. After a few moments, “Brian…?”

Brian’s eyes are closed; I see him cock an eyebrow lazily. “Yes, dear?”

“Brian…?” I don’t have a clue how to continue.

Brian pulls me close to him, his palm and fingers gently rubbing up and down my sweaty back. He’s thoughtful, a small smile playing on his lips. Then his expression becomes serious and he opens his eyes to look at me closely. “Justin,” he whispers. “Justin, not in... Not in a very, very long time.”

Fucking mindreader. And I have no idea what to think, feel, believe, say, do, anything. So, I don’t. So, I just speak from my heart. “I love you,” is all I say. 

And I mean it. Christ, I love him. I couldn’t love another being more than I love him.

Brian gives me a sly look and whispers, “Fucking mindreader…”

Whoa…


	9. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

It’s close to noon when I finally wake up. Justin’s still sleeping. At least he’s not lying here staring at me this time. That little shit still has some stalker in him, I swear it.

Fuck. Fuck! I can’t believe I let what happened last night happen! Where was my Goddamned brain at? Was I just thinking with my cock?

No.

No, I know I wasn’t just thinking with my cock. Or, more accurately, my ass AND my cock. I glance over to the other side of the room and see the still wrapped condom Justin had ‘frisbee’d’ there the night before. I was genuinely ticked when he did that. He was behaving like a twat. So, why did I bottom for him? Or. With him. Because. Shit. Because I trust him. Because I wanted it. Because it’s been- fuck! Years. And it’s never been like it was last night. And… Jesus. Because I care for the little shit. I realize with a small twinge that again, I fell asleep holding Justin all warm and sticky. And I’m the one responsible for the ‘sticky’. 

I can’t give him what it is he wants. Not yet. It’s just not safe. Yet. Christ. Am I really considering fucking only this 19-year-old twink for a year or more to be sure I’m negative? To be sure it’s safe- he’s safe? To give him what he wants?

…What I want… too…?

I look at Justin’s sleeping form. There’s a slight smile on his face that I can’t help but snicker at. I reach over and brush away the hair that has become stuck to his forehead from dried sweat and sleep. And probably from a little cum, too, I grin to myself. 

That boy needs a haircut, I think. But I personally prefer it like this, so I’m not going to say anything. It’s so soft, so incredibly soft… and I love to slide my fingers through it when we make… when we fuck.

So, Kinney. Kinney, you stupid, sorry-assed bastard: What the FUCK are you doing? What have you gotten yourself into? You’re becoming a cross between Jessica Fletcher and Carol fucking Brady. I try to push thoughts about last night away and instead think about what to do next with the Stockwell situation. The latest version, I mean. For the moment, at least I hope, it’s unlikely that Mikey and the kid are in any immediate danger- if Debbie and Ben AND Horvath don’t know their whereabouts-- which apparently, since the two have left fucking Blue Balls, PA, they don’t-- I doubt if Stockwell is focusing too much on them. With them out of town, he has nothing to be too concerned about. And Hunter’s mother- well, I’ll have to think about that bitch later. I don’t see her as a life-or-death threat to either of them.

But we do need to get some answers- if Stockwell is really capable of killing, what’s stopping him from doing it again if someone crosses him? Right? I mean, what if Hunter does know something that would ruin dear old Mr. Family Friendly, and he comes back to town? I wonder if maybe we shouldn’t try to track ol’ Gair down. Not only could he maybe help keep Hunter away from his bitch-assed mother, but he might have a few bits of information to fill in some gaps. Why would Stockwell kill Reikert instead of Gary and Hunter? Reikert seemed more than willing to remain in the closet, silent- he was even going to be the one to take the rap for killing Kemp. Fuck, the guy was even outwardly supportive of Stockwell and his campaign. I guess that might not be too cool for Stockwell if he were arrested for killing the kid, but... 

Maybe Stockwell didn’t want any mention of Reikert and Kemp to hit the news at all? But it was pretty stupid to kill Kenny boy- I mean, really, what better way than that to ensure that the affair would hit the news? Surely he knew that the press would dig, would find out something about the dead man’s ‘secret’ life. I just happened to beat them to it, in a way. Reikert’s sudden death sure made my ad hit home- much moreso than if he had still been alive. 

I guess I should back up a little. I’m - we’re all- assuming that Stockwell killed Kemp and Reikert. Maybe someone else did. But who else had a motive? Could Gary have done it? He sure seems to have a testy little temper- or, I believe he does, anyway, from what I’ve read in a couple of his letters. Could he have killed in a jealous rage? Maybe. But twice? And once dumpster boy was out of the picture, who would he have had to be jealous of? Surely not Hunter...

From what I know- which, fuck, is minimal at best- Stockwell and Fairy Gary are the only two who appear to have motives. And neither of the scenarios I can come up with concerning their motives is logical. 

But, hell, we’re dealing with a murderer (or murderers?) here- logic is probably not the guilty party’s strong suit. 

Sighing, I mull over the confusing situation. Another question is: what the fuck’s the deal with Gary disappearing and leaving Hunter to fend for himself on the streets again? He’d been so happy to have found him, to have him back with him, to have him safe and away from his cunty mother. But it would appear that the kid had been back out on the streets for weeks or even more before the noble Mr. and Mrs. Bruckner had taken him in. And, yet ANOTHER thing that sort of puzzles me is, how did Hunter’s mother track him down? 

Justin stirs and I find that I’ve been looking at him the whole time I’ve been thinking, my fingers playing idly with his hair. Fuck ME! I really and truly am becoming a goddamned lesbian! I quickly pull my hand away and roll onto my back before he opens his eyes. He’s always pretty groggy and out of it when he first wakes up- I decide he is unaware of what I’d been doing. It’s a decision I make out of necessity. I have to keep my sanity.

Justin smiles briefly and then elongates into a quivering, grunting stretch. “G’mrning…” he mumbles, sighing as he relaxes and slumps back onto the pillow. He turns to me with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” I exclaim, plastering my best shit-eating grin on my face and purposefully using a tone of annoying cheerfulness. He just rolls his eyes, yawns, and shifts onto his back, one arm behind his head. 

“So,” he pauses, rubbing his eyes, “I see you must have found the stash of drugs I’ve been putting in your water at night…” He cocks an eyebrow at me and grins lazily, still half asleep.

I wince on the inside. Shit. I try to rally, “Yep. I’m testing it out to see how deeply you sleep and for how long, so that when I kill you, you won’t make a fuss.” I put my hands in a stranglehold around his neck and give a slight squeeze. “That way, the neighbors won’t hear any screaming and call the cops.”

Justin guffaws lightly, batting my arms away. “They’re used to screaming from this loft, Brian. You could fucking kill me when I’m wide awake, screaming my bloody head off, and no one around here would blink an eye…”

“Smartass,” I smirk, leaning over to give him a kiss. His lips are so soft and warm, I linger for a bit. The amazing thing about Justin is that he almost never has morning breath. I can’t count the number of times I’ve woken up next to some nameless trick and nearly thrown up with the smell emanating from the other side of the bed. It makes it that much more necessary to kick them out of the loft before falling asleep. But Justin has a sort of musky, heady smell to him in the morning- not unpleasant… in fact, downright pleasant. I feel his hand on the back of my head, caressing the back of my neck as he returns my kiss. Enough. 

But I don’t pull away. I shudder slightly- last night was unbelievable, but there was more to it than just that. There was some kind of line I crossed, whatever the fuck that means- I honestly don’t know. It’s just how it feels-- and what scares me is that it felt completely fine. It terrifies me. Never, ever, have I allowed myself to give myself over to someone, to trust someone, like I did last night. Except for Mikey; I trust him implicitly. But not like this. This goes beyond friendship, and fuck me if it doesn’t freak me the fuck out. 

“You reek. Brush your teeth.” I finally say, pulling away. Quite honestly, I don’t want to think about this right now- at all.

Justin grins, knowing I don’t really mean what I’m saying. But he holds his tongue, kisses me on the cheek, then pulls himself up and pads over to the bathroom, buck naked. I watch him thinking, ‘Thank God that kid knows when not to push me. Or, usually knows, that is. Well, knows this time.’ Gawd. 

The little shit.


	10. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: STOCKWELL. PRIOR TO THE ELECTION.

My God. What the hell is happening? Kinney, goddamned him- I can’t believe he’s a fag—I can’t believe he’s undermined me. He seemed to be such a straight shooter. Ha! Bad choice of words. Having him on my campaign was a boon until Bromwell told me he saw him at Woody’s the night of the raid- with a boy practically half his age! Woody’s: the most disgusting, depraved place in Pittsburgh. Well, I think derisively, that’s not true- all of Liberty Avenue is a scourge on this town’s good name and moral dignity. And now I’ve come to learn that Brian Fucking Kinney is its King. 

And then there’s that fucking Kemp. I knew who the kid was as soon as that blond shit said his name- I didn’t need that freakish redhead to show his picture. 

Just look at my boys- so beautiful, so innocent. I gaze out the window watching them play in the leaves in the yard. Why there has to be such an element of evil out there is lost on me. God, I pray that I win this election- not for my own ends, but to better this town for fine families, to transform this town so that the people of this city can live without the corrupt influence of left-wing so-called “free thinkers” who accept and even welcome the perverse: the homos, the cross-dressers, the Godless freaks- the world of ‘people’ who don’t know about God. The bleeding hearts. I truly pray that I can make this place safe for all moral, upstanding, hard working people. I pray to win not for my own benefit, but for the benefit of everyone deserving of justice.

“Sweetie?” 

Gina interrupts my silent prayers, entering my home office with a slight rap on the door and a smile on her face. She looks mildly concerned.

“Are you alright?” She asks.

“I’m just thinking. Praying, actually.” She smiles. I don’t typically talk too much ‘God talk’ outside of the home—my campaign advisors have told me that keeping the focus on morals and family values and being Joe Everyman is a more winning tactic. Kinney in particular. And of course, that doesn’t surprise me one bit at this point… 

But Gina and I are God-fearing people, and she’s my heart, my life, the mother of my beloved sons. And I thank God every day for sending her to me.

“You don’t need to pray, honey,” she says, coming up to me to give me a light kiss on the cheek and a warm smile. “You’re going to win. You have to win. It’s what’s right. There’s no way you can lose.”

“I wish that were true. I just can’t shake these doubts, Geen. That… that fucking Kinney.” Inevitably she casts a quick disapproving look at me. She hates it when I use foul language. I give her a slightly contrite look, but continue, “And ever since that rally where they called me homophobic—and then- then there was that… that ambush at the…” I pause, gathering my wits to actually say it, “’Gay and Lesbian Center’…” my voice trails off. My thoughts are tumbling out in a jumble. But I know she understands.

I look at her and she gets a slight scowl on her face. “I know, honey.” She says. “I can’t believe you had to…” she swallows, “had to publicly embrace those people- and then for them to turn on you like that…”

I smile slightly. I don’t want her to worry about it. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.” 

I haven’t dared tell her about everything—she takes things so seriously, so much to heart. How Kemp was blackmailing me about his affair with Reikert. And, of course, Reikert himself. I hadn’t known he was gay until around the time I began to think about running for Mayor. Great time to let me in on your little fu- your little secret, you homo. Although, he hadn’t really let me in on it. I overheard him on the phone one day at the station. He’d thought he was alone, but I’d come into the office and since he was on the phone with his back to me, I’d simply hung up my jacket and sat at my desk. I heard him talking sweet talk—naturally, I thought he was talking to a girlfriend he’d not told me about yet. ‘Sweetie’ this, ‘Love’ that, ‘True heart’ – Lord, it was so intimate; I finally stood up to leave to give him some privacy. Then, he called the person ‘Gary’. Gary. Gary! I nearly dropped my coffee cup. I did drop my doughnut. He had turned around suddenly, in shock. I must have shifted my chair when I’d steadied myself at his uttering that name. He looked positively mortified. I know I was. 

My partner. I fucking saved his Goddamned LIFE years ago, for Pete’s sake! He immediately hung up the phone and stared at me in horror. I just turned and left. 

He had to leave the force. There was no way I could win an election with the public knowing I had had a partner on the force who was gay. Not unless I was Deekins, maybe. Ha. Fu- Damned liberals. There aren’t many of them in this working class town, thank God. Thank God. And this working class town has no tolerance for homos. I have no tolerance for them.

Calling Ken- ur, Reikert, into my office later that day, I swallowed my disgust and behaved as normally as I could in the face of a fucking faggot who had shared my life, my beat, my world for many years, lying about women he’d dated. Just never found the right one, he kept saying. Luckily, he was so ashamed about what I’d found out, he quietly agreed to take an early retirement. He also promised he’d not go public about his disgusting lifestyle- he said that it was the last thing he’d want to do, anyway- he was quite uncomfortable with himself, I gathered. As well he should have been- should be. Plus, I reminded him that he owes me his life. For a cop- even a gay cop, I have to think- that means everything. That – and only that, really-- is the reason I believed him when he said he would and will continue to keep his promise. And so far, after nearly a year, he has. 

But these fags- they can’t keep their dicks in their pants. After maybe 2 months, I found a letter at my desk. Kemp. Fucking Reikert had found this little boy prostitute and had fucked him- and the kid was threatening to expose everything to the press unless I gave him cash. Now it wasn’t just having had a gay partner on the force for years. Now it was having had a gay partner on the force for years who had had, as Kemp had put it, ‘a 15 year old fuck buddy, a runaway, from the Vaseline towers.’ And he demanded way more cash than I was willing to give... able to give. I mean, I’m a cop for Chrissakes! I found a similar letter shoved under the front door at home, too- thank GOD that Geen had been out taking the boys to soccer practice and hadn’t been home when it arrived. She would have- God, she would have been scared, angry, freaked out… I shudder to think of what she would have done. She cares so much for me, knows how much I want to win this election. Bless her heart.

“Honey?” 

Gina’s voice jars me back to the present- I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “I’m sorry, love. My mind was somewhere else. What were you saying?”

She smiles at me, but there’s a funny look in her eyes. “What do you think you’d like for dinner?” Is all she says.

“Oh, anything,” I say, waving my hand and smiling as confidently as I can. “Everything you make is delicious.”

She smiles again, but the look never leaves her eyes. “Okay. Gruel it is then.” She jokes.

I laugh. “How about hamburgers? The boys will like that.”

She sighs, exaggeratedly. “Whatever...” She rolls her eyes, grins and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I really lucked out with her. None of my married friends have wives as committed to their happiness, career, life as mine is. None put them first like mine does. She would do anything for me, and I love her. She’s a winner.


	11. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN- BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY AT THE LOFT

Grabbing The New York Times from the loft entrance, I hear the phone ring behind me. ‘Who the fuck is calling at this hour?’ I grumble to myself, before remembering that it’s actually almost 12:30 in the afternoon. I slide the door shut and pad over to the phone. As I pick up, I hear Justin shut off the shower. Dammit. I was hoping to join him before he was finished.

“Yeah, what?” I mumble, squelching a yawn.

“Brian?”

“Mikey? Where... how are you? How’s Hunter?” Then I think, “More importantly, how’s my car? You better be checking the fluids and tires at every fucking stop you make, Mikey. That car cost me a fortune...”

I swear I can hear Michael rolling his eyes. Fucker. I’m glad I loaned the car to him, of course. But I still want him to take care of the thing. In the background I hear someone say, “Let me talk to him! Give me the phone!” Then I hear a small struggle. Hunter. Shit. 

“Hey, Brian, what’s up? You got some fucking cool wheels! Michael even let me drive yesterday afternoon! Sweeeeet!” 

“He WHAT? Hunter, put Michael back on!”

Hunter ignores me. “So, Brian, have you missed me? I sure–“

“Put your fucking ‘Paw’ back on, Hunter! Mikey!!” I shout, hoping Michael will hear me if I’m loud enough. Fuck me…

I hear a little static and then, “Hunter! Fuck- give me that!” 

“Michael!?” I am SO pissed.  
“Yeah. I’m back. I swear to God, Brian, you have more teenaged stalkers than Britney Spears.” Aside, I hear him hiss, “Hunter, QUIT IT!” Into the receiver, “Brian, Jesus Christ, the car’s fucking fine. Listen-“

“Michael, don’t you fucking DARE let that little shit drive my car! I swear, if you get a scratch, a ding, so much as a smudge of dirt on that car, I’m going to wring your neck!” Jesus. He let Hunter DRIVE? 

There’s a pause. I start to realize that I should really rearrange my priorities right now. I grit my teeth and force myself to calm down. “Forget it, Michael. Just be careful is all. Could you- listen, could you put Hunter back on?”

“But–“

“I have to talk to him- it’ll only take a second. You’re both doing alright, right?”

“Hunter- just a SECOND! Fuck!” Michael yells. “I’ll put him on in a minute, Brian. I really don’t want to talk long. And I can’t say much- your phone may be tapped.” I roll my eyes. Michael’s imagination has always been vivid, but sometimes it’s downright ludicrous. “We’re fine. They’ve already taken Ben in for questioning- the less you know, the better. Have you talked to Ben? I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell or at home- it’s weird.”

“No. But, it’s all good…. Maybe he’s in prison, getting soundly and thoroughly fucked.” I joke. Not exactly the right moment for a joke, but what the fuck. I’m at the end of my fucking tether here.

“Shut up, Brian.” Mikey says with a tone of exaggerated patience. “Listen, have you talked to Horvath today?”

“No. He said yesterday he was going to call me at some point today.”

“Shit. Shit! Okay. Well, apparently,” Michael then tells Hunter something unintelligible and after a few seconds, he says in a low voice, “Brian: Hunter’s mom has been found dead. Ma said Horvath got a call from one of his friends on the force on his way over from your place yesterday afternoon...”

Holy shit. 

“Hunter doesn’t know yet.”

“Well, he does now, if he’s standing right fucking next to you!”

“I’m not an idiot, Brian! I sent him inside to buy some candy and soda for the road.” He pauses. I get the feeling he’s looking around to make sure that Hunter’s still out of earshot. “Horvath said that they think she was killed early in the morning yesterday; she either lost control of her car, or was run off the road. On I-95. Fuck, Brian, this is all starting to fucking scare the shit out of me.” Michael’s whisper becomes desperate. My mind is racing. What the hell IS going on?

“Maybe it was just an accident...?”

“I don’t know- but Brian, there’s more- ” Mikey suddenly shuts up. I hear Hunter’s voice in the background, “Now can I talk to him? Here are your stupid Penis M&Ms...” I feel a little smile on my face, despite the conversation. Michael loves peanut- ur, penis M&Ms.

“Very funny, asshole.” I’m actually impressed how Mikey completely alters his demeanor in front of Hunter, no indication in his voice that he’s scared, that there’s anything weird going on- well, nothing weirder than what Hunter already knows. More shuffling. Jesus. “Fuck it!”

“Brian?” Hunter.

Again in the background, “Hunter, we can’t talk long- give me back the–“

Fuck. “Hunter, listen.” I say.

“Get off me, Michael! Let go! He wants to talk to me!”

I sigh. I’m talking to fucking Mutt and Jeff here. This is too much and my wits are duller than usual- I just woke up, I haven’t showered, I haven’t had any coffee, and I have no fucking clue what to ask about first. But I know I have to get some kind of answer- answers- out of the kid. “Hunter- tell Michael to fuck off a minute.”

“Brian says to fuck off!” I can hear the triumphant sneer in Hunter’s voice.

“Fuck it. Hurry the fuck up. I have something really important to tell him so don’t take all fuckin’ day.” Mikey sounds pissed. At the moment, I could care less.

Suddenly we’re interrupted by a tinny voice, “You have one minute remaining. Please deposit...” Pause. “…$3.50 for the next 2 minutes. You have one minute remaining. Please deposit... $3.50 for the...”

FUCK!

“Hunter, listen to me! I need to know…” Fuck! What do I need to know again? My mind’s muddy and all over the place at the same time. Why am I even involved in this fucking mess? “…Hunter, we need to know…” I run my fingers through my hair. “Listen, Detective Horvath was over here yesterday- why haven’t you told him where you guys are? Why didn’t you tell anyone you knew Reikert before you went out and fucked him...? I mean, fuck, he was seeing your dad- you knew that... And... and why didn’t you let us know that you were good friends with Jason? That he was blackmailing Stockwell-? And Reikert believed that you were in on– ” I hesitate- I realize as the words leave my lips that I sound like I’m cornering the kid, but there’s no time to beat around the bush. Besides, being flat-out blunt is a Kinney family trait. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Justin wander up next to me, towel around his waist. 

‘Is that Hunter?’ He mouths. I nod.

But, Hunter isn’t talking. A few seconds tick by. “Hunter? Are you there?”

“Hunter?” I hear Mikey say. He must have grabbed the phone from the kid, because now he’s talking to me. “What the fuck did you just say to him, Brian? Fuck! I told you he doesn’t kn---”

“Mikey, stop! I didn’t tell him what you just told me... just put him back on, okay? I don’t have time! Or get out some more change for--”

Suddenly, “Hunter! Hunter, wait! Fuck!” 

In the far distance, I hear Hunter, “Fuck! Get away from me! NO WAY!” and then something I can’t make out. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Then there’s a clunk like the receiver’s been dropped and I vaguely hear the squeak of a sneaker followed by quickly retreating footsteps. I hold the phone out from my ear. Justin looks at me, puzzled.

“Fuck...” I mutter. “Fuck!”

“What? What happened? Brian! What--?”

I wave my hand angrily to get Justin to shut the fuck up, putting the phone back to my ear. “Mikey? Mikey! MICHAEL!” But all I can hear now is the sound of what I think is a highway, and the clang of a service station bell. Then, “You have 10 seconds remaining. Please deposit... $3.50 for the next 2 minutes...” I wait a moment listening to the incessant demand for more money until it’s quite apparent they’re both gone and not returning, the receiver probably dangling from payphone kiosk. I finally slam the phone down after I hear that fucking annoying bleep and the singsong, “If you would like to make a call, please hang up and...”

“’What happened?’??” I turn to face Justin, reiterating his question. “What happened is I fucking blew it!” Shit! I throw the newspaper across the room and it fans out, sliding across the hardwood floor in sections. Justin puts his hand on my shoulder. Or maybe it’s been there. I don’t fucking know. My muscles are kinking up and I can feel the beginning of a headache. “Hunter’s mother is dead.”

Justin just looks at me, stunned. I’m glaring. I’m pissed as hell at myself. At the fucking phone company. At everyone and everything. “How? When?” 

“I guess Horvath heard about it yesterday while on his way from here to Debbie’s. I guess she wrecked on I-95. It doesn’t sound like another car was involved- or, rather, they don’t know if she was run off the road, or if she lost control of the car.”

“Does Hunter...?”

“No. Mikey hasn’t told him.”

“What did Hunter say about Reikert? About Jason and the blackmailing?”

I sigh, rolling my head and shrugging my shoulders trying to release the tension that’s taken hold of my muscles. I vaguely feel Justin’s hand massaging the knots that are building. “He didn’t. He, well, I’m guessing he bolted as soon as I asked him. Then Michael must’ve run after him. I don’t know.”

Justin doesn’t say anything; he just follows me into the bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed, the only place in the fucking loft left to sit except for the stools in the kitchen. He climbs behind me, giving me a brief hug, then he focuses on massaging my neck, back and shoulders with both hands. God, he has such a strong, sensitive touch- must be all that sketching, painting, drawing- physical therapy- whatever the fuck it is, it works for me. “Fuck this. Fuck all of this. Let’s get out of here.”

Justin is quiet, continuing to knead my sore muscles. I find myself leaning into his hands, closing my eyes. 

“Get out of here where?” Justin finally asks.

“I don’t fucking know. I just want to get out of here.” I’m mumbling. “And fuckin’ Mikey thought I’d gone and told Hunter about his mother being dead. I may be a fucker, but I’m not a complete asshole.”

Justin is quiet. Either he’s coming up with a smartass remark, or he’s thinking about something else. “Maybe we should try to find Gary...” His voice trails off as he continues to work the kinks out of my neck. 

I hear myself chuckling slightly. “Mmm… you know what, Sunshine?” But I begin to lose my train of thought as Justin’s hands work over the soreness between my shoulder blades. Had he not somehow known how tense I was getting, by now I would not only have a knotted up, clenched back and neck, but my head would be throbbing. God, he knows me too well. It’s comforting. It’s terrifying.

Justin pulls me back from my reverie, “What…? You think we should try to find him?”

“Yesss…” I sigh. “What I was going to say is that I was actually thinking the same thing. Sunshine, you’re a fucking… Ouch!” I jump when he pushes on a particularly hard lump of knotted muscle.

“Sorry.” 

Wincing a moment, I continue, “No- that’s okay- don’t stop…” Under his thumbs, the pain soon gives way to relief. “…I was going to say that you’re a fucking mindreader…” 

Justin’s hands suddenly stop moving. ‘What gives?’ I wonder. Justin’s hands remain still at the base of my neck. After a moment, he gives a final, gentle squeeze and then wraps his arms around me, hugging me to him. 

“I seem to be doing that a lot lately,” he says quietly. 

I lean back against him, savoring the feel of his soft naked skin on my bare back. 

“Mmmmmm. You terrify the fuck out of me, Justin Taylor,” I hear myself murmur. I feel half asleep. When I realize that I just said that out loud, I rouse myself; Justin’s lips come to rest on the back of my neck in a gentle kiss- I can feel them curl into a slight smile.

“Be afraid. Be very afraid…” he whispers into my ear. Gawd. Besides The Yellow Submarine, he fucking loves those Addams Family movies. Movie tastes we do NOT have in common.

I force my eyes open and sit up fully. I turn my head to the short blond nymphomaniac behind me and give him a small kiss on the lips, lingering perhaps a bit longer than I intend- then I stand and pull my head to one side then the other to fully stretch out my neck. 

“I’ll make some coffee for the road. You shower. You stink.” 

“Fuck you,” I smile, leaning down to give him another kiss. “That used to be my line…”

“A looooong time ago.” Justin adds. 

Yes. Thank God. Fucking Ian, I think. 

\-------------------------  
After my shower I join Justin in the kitchen. He’s screwing the lid onto a thermos. I reach over and pick up the address book Horvath had left on the counter the afternoon before.

“Hey, Justin?”

“Hm? What, you ready to go?” Justin’s busy perusing one of the letters, munching on a piece of toast. 

“In a second- first we have to find out where the hell we’re going. What’s Hunter’s last name?”

“What?” He says, looking up at me having not really been listening.

“Hunter’s last name. What is it?”

“Fuck if I know. Why?”

“Well,” I emphasize every syllable: “I need to know it if we are go-ing to try to track down his dad.” I get up and walk over to the stool where I’d dropped my jacket. I get my cell out and hit speed dial.

“Michael? You asshole! Is that you?” The phone didn’t even fucking ring.

“No, Deb- It’s Brian.”

“Brian! Have you talked to Michael? I called him but he didn’t answer, that little shit! I’m going out of my mind here! I’m so fucking worried!” I can hear Vic in the background saying something like, “Calm down, sis.” Yeah, fat chance, Vic. “Did you hear about Hunter’s mother?”

“I heard. Mikey called me this morning- I think they’re okay, Deb. I mean, Mikey’s scared, but he’s handling things okay with Hunter.” I choose not to go into how the conversation ‘ended’. “I didn’t get a chance to ask Michael if they still have to be on the run... I mean, now that Hunter’s mother’s dead...”

“Carl says that they shouldn’t have run in the first place! And there’s no reason to be on the road now, he says. He told Michael to bring Hunter home, but he fucking refused. He’ll hardly talk to him- or me, for that matter! He’s being so goddamned stubborn and reckless! He could go to jail, Brian!”

“Mikey refused to come home?”

“Fucking flat out refused, and then hung up! He’s being an idiot, Brian. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. Something more than just Hunter running away from his mother... Something’s fucking wrong!”

Well, no shit, Sherlock, I think to myself. Of course something’s wrong. “Try not to worry, Deb- he’s a big boy, and it’s not like the fucking mob is after them. It’s just the law- they won’t shoot first and ask questions later...” I pinch the bridge of my nose. The fucking headache is beginning again. “Deb, I actually called because Justin and I want to try to find Hunter’s dad. It seems the two of them actually got along pretty well- at least from what I can gather after reading the letters Carl brought over yesterday. Hunter’s dad might be able to help with this custody situation. Also, he may have some answers about the link between Stockwell and Reikert’s death. Er, and Kemp’s. Horvath told you about all that shit, right?”

“Of course he did- that’s yet another reason he wants Michael to bring Hunter back! But what the hell, I don’t know Hunter’s fucking father. What can I tell you? Carl said that he’d already been to the guy’s house, but no one was there.”

God, my head is now throbbing. “What’s Hunter’s last name?”

“What? His what? His last name? Why the hell do you want to know that?”

Jesus, just answer the question. “Because I assume it’s Gary’s too...?” I say, trying to be patient.

“Oh. Um. Let me think…. It begins with ’M’…” Debbie is quiet a few moments. “Montgomery. It’s Montgomery.”

Montgomery. “Thanks, Deb. Look, I’ll talk to you later- if you hear from Mikey, call me on my cell, okay? And you gave Horvath my number?”

“Yeah. You be careful, Brian Kinney. And don’t you fucking let anything happen to Sunshine!”

I roll my eyes and flip the phone closed. What am I, his fucking keeper? Whatever the fuck.

“So.... it’s Montgomery.” I flip through the address book to get to the ‘M’s’. “Bingo. 1345 E. King Street, number 5.” Justin peeks over to see the address.

“No shit.”

“What?”

“That’s… er, that’s. That’s… close to where Ethan lives.” Justin looks at me. Uh-huh. What the fuck?

“Well, that’s just dandy, Sunshine! We can stop in and say ‘hi’. I’m sure that Ian will be very happy to see you.” Jesus. “Get ready. We’re going.”

“What are you going to talk to him about?”

”What else? His dead lover, his dead lover’s fuck buddy, his son, his ex-wife, murdering people. All of it.” I head into the bedroom to get my shoes. “Get dressed, Sonny Boy! Field trip!”


	12. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

I feel genuinely uncomfortable going back to Ethan’s neighborhood, and I slump down in the passenger seat of the Skylark, trying to make myself invisible. Plus the address is-- Brian glances over at me and laughs.

“Justin, if you see Ethan, you see Ethan. You don’t have to hide- and you certainly don’t have to avoid him on my account.” 

“I know…” I mumble, straightening up, sort of surprised Brian used Ethan’s real name. God I fuckin’ hate that guy. Actually, I really don’t think about him at all anymore, so hate is too strong a word- it was almost instant after that little episode with the roses that clarity struck. But being in his neighborhood is odd. I push him out of my mind and begin to look through the photographs Carl had left with us. Some of them are of Jason, and several are of Jason with Reikert. The bulk of them are of Reikert and someone around his age, I assume it’s Gary. “Brian?”

At that moment, Brian’s cell rings and he looks at me briefly as he flips the phone open. “Yeah, this is Brian...”

‘It’s fucking Hunter!’ He mouths to me as he steers us over to the side of the road to park while he talks; he kills the engine. Fuck me! And we’re about a block from Ethan’s. I hunch down and listen.

“Jesus Hunter! I can’t understand you! Calm the fuck down!… Is Michael with you? He--? Where the fuck is he?! WHAT?” Brian runs his fingers through his hair, a look of concern and exasperation on his face. “Fuck, Hunter! Goddammit…” He pauses, listening. “No. Don’t. I won’t. Listen, Hunter-“ He pauses again, listening. I watch his face. His expression looks more and more shocked, which worries me. What the fuck? 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay…” He’s quiet. Very quiet. “Okay, yeah, well, it won’t be till tonight, okay? You’re at least three hours away. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Fuck. Be careful.” He pauses. I put my hand on his knee, looking at his face. He glances up at me as though he’d forgotten I was there. His eyes are troubled. “And fucking lay low.” He says finally. He flips the phone off and continues to stare at me. 

“What is it, Brian?”

“Mikey’s missing. Hunter ran off this morning after I talked to him- I guess Mikey never caught up to him. When Hunter cooled down or whatever, he decided to go back to find Michael.” Brian is whispering. I squeeze his knee, waiting quietly. All I can think is, ‘fuck fuck FUCK…’

“And...?” I say, finally.

“Michael was gone. With the car. Hunter’s still at the rest stop. He’s scared shitless. He wants us to go get him. He’s stranded.”

“Michael probably took the car out to look for Hunter, Brian- I’m sure he’s okay. I mean, that’s the logical explanation.”

“Yeah, but- fuck, it’s been at least three hours since I talked to him. And, I know Mikey. He’d have called me by now if he were still out looking for Hunter. Well, unless…” His voice trails off. Brian is still, thinking. “Hunter won’t call the cops- and he fucking begged me not to. Give me Horvath’s number,” he demands, gesturing towards the papers and photos in my lap. I look down and sift through it all, finding the paper with his number scrawled on it.

“Brian, are you sure you should? I mean, Hunter didn’t want you to- maybe there’s a reason.”

“But Horvath isn’t a cop. Anymore, anyway.” But then Brian hesitates. “Well, maybe we should just go get the brat and then figure out what to do. Michael will probably be there with him with a fucking grin on his face by the time we get there. Fucker.” Brian chuckles but I can see he’s scared. “So, my partner in crime-solving, bed and the shower, we are off to the outskirts of New York FUCKing City. Your home away from home, Sunshine!”

He turns the key and the Buick roars into life. He pulls away from the curb, tires screeching, and heads out of the neighborhood and towards the highway. In the back of my mind, I feel a sense of relief that we’re away from Ethan’s. Which is fucking stupid- there are much bigger issues at hand at the moment. Fuck.

After some time, I find myself looking through the photos again. One in particular keeps bugging me. “Brian?”

”Hm?” Brian is distracted. He’s absently chewing on his thumb as he steers us down the highway. It’s about 4PM, and it’s getting dusky. The sky’s a steel bluish gray and it smells like it’s going to snow; I love this ‘gloomy’, brooding weather- Brian loves it too. Under different circumstances, we’d probably be looking to the sky, pointing out the different cloud formations the wind has whipped up. Yeah. Fuck that right now.

“I know you can’t see this while you’re driving, but did you notice in this picture,” I hold the photo out and peer at it, “it looks like Horvath in the background here?”

“Hm?” Brian says again, not really paying attention, wrapped in his own thoughts. “What about Horvath?”

“This picture. Did you look at these photos very carefully?”

”No, I didn’t.” Now he focuses on what I’m saying. “Why?”

“Well, I can’t really tell, but it looks a little bit like Horvath’s in one of them. Behind this tree, see? And it looks like Stockwell’s sitting with him. And some woman.” I peer at the picture. I have no clue who she is.

”Justin, I can’t look while I’m driving.” I roll my eyes. Brian goes on, “But so? What’s it say on the back of the photo? Maybe it was at a police thing. You know, Reikert would have been invited to whatever the fuck cops do when they get together. Well, besides making the streets safe for fags everywhere by merely being absent from the beat…”

“The picture is actually of Reikert and Jason- see? They’re mugging for the camera. I mean, he took his fuck buddy to a police gathering? That’s weird.”

Brian glances over and then turns his eyes back to the road. “Maybe. Anyone else there?”

I study the picture carefully. 

“Wonder who took it… what’s it say on the back? Did you say?” Brian repeats. 

“The back just says, ‘annual picnic’.” I squint at a blurry image on the other side of Reikert’s head, far in the background. “It looks like there’s another person back there. Real lanky. Definitely young, you know, Jason’s age.” I look at the fuzzy image closely. Long baggy jeans, three sizes too big, crotch down to the knees. Floppy coat. Seems to be jumping to catch something. “The kid sure dresses like shit. In fact, he dresses like Hunter. In fact…” Hm. It may BE Hunter.

Brian chortles. “Listen to you: you’re hardly one to criticize someone else’s fashion, Sunshine.” He looks over and sizes me up. “Jesus. What is with the youth of today?” 

It’s nice to see Brian’s mind temporarily off of Michael, so I decide to ignore the dig. Sort of. “Ha ha. I’ve seen photos of you when you were in high school. You were a total dweeb. At least that’s what Mikey called you once- or said that Ben had called you that. I forget. And you kind of were, Brian. You were skinny, tall, kind of gangly, and you had that goofy hair—“

”Enough!” Brian clips tersely; he reaches down and flips on the headlights. It’s getting pretty dark out. “I don’t recall anyone ever complaining. Girls and boys alike were partial to my dashing good looks.” He looks at me and winks, the luminous reddish glow from the dashboard twinkling in his eyes. Then he rolls his eyes. “Gawd. High school sucked.”

I smile and sit back. “You wouldn’t have survived a day at St. James Academy.” I say, smugly. Brian reaches over and gives me a push with his right hand. 

“Whatever, Sunshine. From what I know about the people at your school, I wouldn’t have wanted to sit through one fucking class. Fucking homophobic republican rightwing religious assholes.”

”Hey!” For some reason, I feel the need to defend that shit-heap of an institution- I’m not sure why. “Academically, it’s a great school. And not everyone there was like that- I mean, Daphne’s cool.”

“Yes. Daphne is cool.” He concedes. “But, not as cool as I was when I was in high school. And certainly not as cool as I am now.” Brian has that wicked little grin on his face that he gets when he knows he’s pissing me off. Fucker. I ignore him and turn to look out the window.

In all honesty, Brian was fucking cute in high school. I’ve not only seen Mikey’s yearbook, but I’ve also seen Brian’s. He keeps it in a box in the back of his closet. And judging by the number of people who signed Brian’s yearbook, he was pretty well liked. I lean back and allow my mind to momentarily let go of worry about Brian, Michael and Hunter for awhile. 

I remember grilling Michael about “young Brian”, fascinated to know what he’d been like when he was around my age. He told me that Brian was a lot like he is now. He never played any of those clique games that every high schooler encounters- he could care less about those kind of ‘games’, and was actually accepted by just about all his classmates for that very reason. I’m sure the fact that he really didn’t give a shit if he fit in or not- and his sense of humor- had a lot to do with it too; but the geeks liked him because he didn’t treat them any differently than he treated anyone else (in fact, his best friend was among their ranks, Michael stoically admitted); the jocks respected him for his athletic ability in soccer and running and swimming—and the few jocks who didn’t like Brian kept their distance after the locker incident. I grin when I remember the story Brian told in Woody’s after I was suspended for fighting with Hobbs; after being dunked in the toilet head first by some jock, Brian later came up behind him and smashed the guy’s locker door on his hand, breaking three of his fingers. After that, jock-boy and his buddies left Brian alone. And by association, they left Mikey alone too- which, Michael told me, was a godsend. It is nice to have him on your side, that’s for sure- like when he came between me and Hobbs outside of Babylon, when Hobbs started for me. Brian can be downright intimidating.

Brian was apparently well liked by the girls, too-- for obvious reasons. He dated a little, but mainly out of curiosity. Brian has told me that he’s known practically from birth that he was gay- “I knew I loved cock as soon as I looked down and saw my own,” he said. So modest. Still, as one of the most sexually ambitious, motivated and charged animals on the planet, he was willing to go out with classmates of both genders, and even a coach and teacher or two- men and women. But, Michael told me, Brian never developed a relationship that was steady or serious in highschool. Well, except for with Michael. I look up to watch the streetlights overhead strobe by. 

Michael told me a long time ago about Brian’s home life- Brian rarely talks about it. And no wonder, really- from what little I know, I find it hard to believe he survived to adulthood- literally and figuratively. He stayed over at Michael’s a lot; Mikey mentioned how it was almost daily that Brian would come to his house to walk to school together or hang out, often sporting a new bruise or welt. Jack was a vicious drunk, and Brian seemed to be his punching bag of choice in the family. Claire somehow escaped his wrath, and his mother was always away from the house, as she was heavily involved with the church. And even when she was there, she really wasn’t. 

Michael said he was over at Brian’s once soon after they’d met- they were both 14, and Brian’s family had just moved to town. The two of them were in the living room playing Yahtzee or something and Brian had gone over to the hutch by the front door to get some more paper. Suddenly Jack Kinney burst through the front door drunk, careened into Brian knocking him off balance, and then quick as lightning Jack stood back and sucker punched Brian right in the jaw, knocking him backwards onto the hardwood floor- Brian never knew what hit him. A split second later, Jack stepped over and kicked him as hard as he could in the chest. The whole time- all of maybe 5 seconds (5 of the longest seconds Mikey says he’s ever experienced)- no one said a word. Michael said he was so stunned; all he could manage was to start whimpering. He also said the smell of alcohol was so strong, even from across the room, it stung his nose. 

Brian didn’t do anything except gasp for air for a long time- his father had kicked him so hard the wind had been knocked right out of him. When he finally caught his breath, he very deliberately got to his feet, clenched his jaw, and limped back to the card table where Michael was sitting. Michael, terrified, crying, was frozen, unable to act upon his first instinct to run for his life before getting hit himself- but by the time he felt he could actually move, Brian’s dad had lurched off to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of Beam, staggered over to the sofa and had literally collapsed, passed out with the bottle clutched in his fist. Michael had looked over at Brian, he said, and Brian- Brian showed no emotion at all- his eyes had become completely unreadable, like he had gone somewhere else in his mind. He just sat down slowly, hugging his body with one arm, reaching up with the other to tenderly brush his fingers over his jaw. A very dark bruise was already beginning to spread under the red marks left by Jack’s knuckles, and a nasty gash on his lip was swelling, a thin trickle of blood slipping down his chin and onto his fingers. 

This whole time, Joanie was apparently in the next room, door wide open, arranging flowers. A few minutes after Jack had passed out, she had quietly set the vase of flowers on an end table, fussed slightly with her skirt, and had simply gone upstairs. Not once looking into the room, not once acknowledging that her son was broken, bleeding, silently sitting at the table, not once seeing her son’s friend standing there bawling, staring at the whole scene incredulously, not once casting a glance at the passed out drunk on the sofa who had swept in and had caused this unbelievable drama. It was breathtakingly fucked, Michael said, and he never has been able to get over it. To think it was a regular occurrence was literally frightening. Is literally frightening.

Michael said he rarely went over to the Kinney home after that. He also said that Jack had apparently cracked one of Brian’s ribs that day. Michael told his mom what happened. Debbie had called family services, but nothing came of it- and a few days after she’d made that call, Brian had shown up to walk to school with his arm in a cast and a black eye. He told Michael and Debbie that he’d hurt himself falling out of a tree. They didn’t believe him- and Brian had known they hadn’t- but Debbie apparently thought she’d made matters worse for him so she never called the authorities again. Besides, Mikey said that back then, domestic violence, child abuse- that was considered something private, something that you just didn’t talk about. A family thing. Jesus. Luckily, the abuse became less and less frequent once Brian had a growth spurt at 15- he’d already been tall, but that summer he shot up to 6'3". And with all of the sports he was involved in, Brian’d become very strong. Jack probably started to think twice before taking a swing at the boy. 

It’s amazing, really- he is so gentle, loving, tender with Gus. Where he learned that is a mystery- certainly not in the Kinney House of Horror. Maybe from Vic. Or maybe it’s innate. However it happened, he couldn’t be less like Jack as a father. Luckily for Gus.

I pull myself out of my reverie and look over at Brian, who’s been quiet this whole time. He has a blank expression on his face, steering the car past slower moving vehicles, glancing in the rearview mirror every so often. “How are you doing?”

“I’m on autopilot.” He answers, matter of factly. “There’s too much to think about, but not enough to draw any real conclusions. So, I’m zoning out- much like you are, it would seem.” He pauses. “Here’s your favorite question, although I am loathe to say it: what are you thinking about? You haven’t said a fucking word in 75 miles. I’m getting a bit concerned- unless you’re sleeping, you never shut up. And even then,” he cranes his neck around to check his blind spot before flipping on the blinker and changing lanes, “even then, you talk up a storm.”

“I talk in my sleep?” 

“Sometimes. I know all your deep and dark secrets. You can be very talkative.”

“No way!”

“Way.”

I look at him. I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. But, really, I don’t have any deep, dark secrets from Brian, so I shrug it off. “Whatever.”

After a few more minutes, he says, “So?”

“‘So?’ what?”

He rolls his eyes. “Soooo: what have you been thinking about?”

“Oh. Nothing, really. Just about stuff Michael has told me about you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Like?”

“Just you in high school. Your family.”

“He’s talked to you about my family?”

“A little.” I can tell he’s thinking hard about that.

“Okay…” he says, hesitantly.

“About your parents.”

“My parents, eh?”

“Uh-huh.” I continue to look at him, gauging his reaction. “Your dad was a real shit, wasn’t he?”

Brian blinks, caught a bit off guard. “He had his moments.” He keeps his eyes trained on the road.

After a few moments, “Brian, can I ask you something?”

His eyes never waver. “Depends.”

“Why don’t you talk to me about when you were younger? I mean, about how it was for you growing up?”

“You never ask me. And why? What do you want to know?”

“How… hm. Well, what was it like growing up in your house? How come you’re so great with Gus? I mean, Jesus- from what Mikey’s told me about your dad and how he beat the shit out of you- with your mother standing right in the next—“

“Justin, fuck that. Really, there’s nothing to talk about. It’s over. Done. History. Jack’s fucking dead. Joanie’s a fucking alcoholic church freak. What’s there to talk about, really?”

I’m quiet for a while. Brian’s expression has become unreadable. I wonder if this is what Michael had been talking about. I want to reach over, to touch him, to show him he’s loved. But I’m afraid. Or, I sort of sense that he is.

Then he gets a small smile, a genuine smile. “…And,” he adds, “Gus is a special boy. Fucking drama princess, but special nonetheless…” 

“Well, of course he is.” I agree. But I think a moment, and add, “What, you think you weren’t?”

Brian snorts. “Oh, I was special, alright. I was a complete shit from day one.” He grins bitterly.

“Fuck that, Brian!” Jesus- does he really believe he deserved being hit and kicked and whatever the fuck all else? Fuck! “Bri—“

“Justin, just stop it. I really don’t feel like strolling down the sordid dark alleyway that is my personal memory lane, if you don’t mind…” he looks agitated. 

“Sorry…” I let it go. Fuck Jack and Joanie Kinney, I think. I busy myself by putting the stack of papers into the pocket of my jacket. Then I lean over against Brian, quietly undoing my seatbelt so that I can reach him.

”Quit it! Put that back on, Justin. The last thing we need now is for you to end up dead, or missing after flying through the windshield into the river…”

“Maybe I’ll find Michael in there,” I say, but I quickly realize that wasn’t really the appropriate joke for the moment. I hope he doesn’t read too much into it and quietly click the belt back on. I hold it slightly loose though, and lean my upper body against him. He smells so good, he’s so warm; I close my eyes. I feel his arm wrap around me. “Don’t fall asleep on me, asshole. We’re almost there.” I shift and dig a finger into his ribs teasingly. “Ow!” He yelps. 

I find myself beginning to doze lightly when Brian says, “Jesus,” turning up the heat. “Hunter must be freezing his fucking balls off...!”

”I’m sure there’s a restaurant or something there.” I hope so. I’m starving.

“I fucking hope Michael’s shown up.” I open my eyes to look up at him, then I give him a small kiss on his jaw, trying to reassure him that it’ll be alright. I see him check the rearview mirror.

“What do you keep doing that for? Checking the mirror?” I ask.

“Eh, I dunno. I’ve kind of gotten this feeling that someone’s following us- they keep up with us two cars back, passing when I pass, changing lanes when I change lanes. I’m just being paranoid. My mind’s all over the place since Horvath showed up. Fucker. I’d rather not know about any of this shit. Whatever there is to know, I mean.”

I crane my neck to look behind us. “Which car is it?”

”That white one. It looks like a Cutlass or something. Another piece of shit car.”

“Have you gotten a look at the driver?”

“Some chick, actually. But it’s too dark and she’s too far back for me to really see her.”   
I turn back to face front again. 

“Exit 245A. This is it!” Brian says, putting on his blinker and getting into the right lane to exit. As we slow to stop at the signal at the bottom of the ramp, we both look around, incredulous. “Fuck me. This isn’t a Bob’s Big Boy kind of rest stop. This is a vending machine/hole in the ground with one-ply toilet paper rest stop.” Brian grumbles. “Why’d Mikey pull off here?”


	13. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

 

He’s right. There’s nothing here- and it didn’t even say “rest area ahead” back there. Why would Mikey pull off here? 

Brian pulls into the small gas station. A little bell clangs as he pulls up to the pump. “This must be where he’s at. It’s the only place around.” He says. “I’m going to get some gas. Wanna go inside and see if Hunter’s here?” Brian glances behind him, looking up the exit ramp. “Guess we weren’t being followed after all,” he mumbles, more to himself than to me.

Going inside, I see there’s no one behind the counter, but the door clanks as it closes and I hear someone in the back. “Hello?” I call. I grab a nut roll and some peanut butter cups. God, I’m hungry.

An old white-haired man shuffles out from the back. “Hello,” he says, matter of fact. “Can I help you?”

“Well,” I dump the candy on the counter, “I’d like these, and also, have you seen a young kid around here- longish brown hair, jeans...?” How else do I describe him? Big lips? Funny teeth?

“Yeah. He’s back there.” The old guy gestures towards the door he’d come from, then he rings up the candy.

Handing him a five-dollar bill, I look at him inquisitively. He just stares at me. “So.” I say finally, “can I um… can I go back there? I know him- he’s waiting for me.”

At that point, Brian enters the store and throws a credit card on the counter. “Hunter!” He yells. “Get out here!” 

Brian’s nothing if not direct, I think to myself. 

Hunter comes out from the back room, looking a bit shaken up but relieved to see us. Well, Brian, anyway. The old man cackles. “Hunter, eh? I thought you said your name was Jimmy, son!”

But Hunter ignores him, runs right to Brian and clutches at him like a scared two year old. He starts sobbing. Brian looks surprised, glancing from the old man to me, his arms out at his sides like he’s at a loss as to what this creature is doing clinging to him. He gathers his wits and slowly wraps his arms around Hunter in a gentle hug. I’m fascinated- besides Gus, and well, me, I suppose, I’ve never seen Brian comfort anyone. He buries his fingers in the boy’s hair and holds his head against his chest. The old man just stares. After maybe two minutes, the only noise being Hunter’s broken sobs, Brian shoots a glare at the geezer. “Well, are you going to run the fucking card, or what?” Brian’s voice sounds slightly annoyed. The man snaps out of it and quickly slides the card. After Brian signs the slip, his left arm still around Hunter, he thanks the man tersely and motions for me to follow. 

Once outside, Brian pulls Hunter over towards a bench near a payphone and sits him down. There’s only the light from the nearby highway exit sign and the service station window. Hunter’s gasping and hiccupping, but no longer crying. His face is splotchy and wet; he looks utterly miserable. I sit on the other side of him and hand him a tissue. 

“Thanks,” he sputters. Brian first looks at me, no doubt wondering why I have a tissue with me. 

‘Allergies,’ I mouth, grinning slightly. He rolls his eyes then turns his attention back to Hunter, his arm still around him protectively. 

“Hunter. Er, Jimmy...” he hesitates. “What’s going on?”

Hunter squeezes his hands around the Kleenex, then unfolds it and blows his nose. He takes a few more breaths, trying to breathe deeply to calm the hiccupping. “Fuck.” He mutters, his voice hitching slightly. “I feel like such a fucking baby. Crying like a goddamned pussy...” Brian catches my eye and smiles softly. 

“It’s okay- I’d probably be bawling too if I had to spend all day in this dump,” Brian says lightly, looking around the decrepit rest stop. Hunter smiles slightly. I smile too. ‘Who the fuck is this guy?’ I think to myself. Then I think… ‘Oh. Yeah.’

After a few moments, having allowed Hunter to relax and get control over himself, Brian repeats, “Jimmy: What is going on?” 

Hunter looks around, suddenly suspicious. “Can we go?” Is all he says. 

Brian looks around too. “Yes.” We get up and go to the car. Hunter claims the front seat, so I climb in the back. Brian cocks an eyebrow at me in the rearview mirror. 

“A Buick Skylark?” Hunter blurts out. “Dude, fuck! You gave Michael the wrong car...”

“No shit.” Brian says, buckling his seatbelt. “If I’d had the choice, you would’ve been driving around in this car, and I’d have picked you up here in the ‘Vette...”

I happen to notice a white car parked on the other side of the rest area, fairly well hidden in the shadows. Normally, I’d think nothing of it, but I poke Brian in the shoulder blade. 

“Ouch! Fuck, Justin, What?”

I point. 

“Hm.” He starts the car and exits the rest stop by looping around to where the car is parked. No one is inside, but I go ahead and write down the license plate number. Probably the old man’s car, I figure. But- just in case...

Once we’re on the highway, we’re silent for awhile. I notice Hunter looking unabashedly at Brian’s profile as he drives. ‘Subtle he ain’t,’ I think to myself. Brian doesn’t seem to notice. Typical. I lean forward and put my chin on the back of the front seat. “So, now that we’re on our way...” I stop. “Where are we going?” 

“Home.” Brian says, flat out.

“No fucking way!” Hunter yells. “My fucking cunt of a mother is after me, the cops are after me, my....” he stops short.

“What?” Brian asks, shifting his eyes to Hunter and then over his shoulder as he flips on the blinker before changing lanes. Hunter’s quiet. “Listen, Hunter: you have to trust someone. Mikey’s not here.” I hear a catch in Brian’s throat and I put my hand on his shoulder. He clears his throat and continues, “We can’t take you to Ben right now- he’s probably being watched night and day by the cops. Your mom’s- your mom’s not available and as you say, you’re trying to ditch her anyway. Your dad- well, you haven’t told us anything about your dad. So, Sonny Boy: right now, we’re all you’ve got.” While Brian’s tone is flip, I notice him reach for Hunter’s hand, which is clenched in his lap; he gives it a quick reassuring squeeze. “So, Hunter slash Jimmy: I’ve never been one for subtlety: Spill.”

Hunter hesitates, then sighs. “Can he be trusted?” Hunter is gesturing towards me, which makes Brian laugh and me roll my eyes. 

“You’ve already had the honor of meeting ‘him’. ‘He’ is Justin, and yes, ‘he’ can be trusted.” Brian winks at me in the rearview mirror.

Hunter doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs. “I still can’t believe you have THAT for a boyfriend...” he mutters. Asshole. Brian snickers, but I notice that he doesn’t correct the kid’s use of vocabulary. “Where do you want me to begin?”

“Where do you think I’d like you to begin?” 

Hunter rolls his eyes, but settles back, his fingers twisting the Kleenex. “Well, first, can I ask you what it is that you know?”

Brian takes a deep sigh and looks at me again in the rearview mirror. “Justin? You wanna field that one? I’m driving and I’m sick of talking.”

“That’s a first,” I mutter under my breath. I clear my throat, “First of all, whatever your name is: you better be at least civil to me. It’s quite clear you have a schoolgirl crush on Brian here, but get over it. Yes, you can trust me. As Brian has told you before, and just told you again, my name is Justin.” I pause and look over at him. He’s staring at me. 

Brian is decidedly tickled. He’s looking at me in the rearview mirror, eyes twinkling, eyebrows raised and lips curled into a little “O”- he looks a bit surprised, definitely amused, and possibly impressed. He then looks over at Hunter, grinning. I could swear the kid’s blushing, but it’s too dark to tell. He’s looking down at the shredded Kleenex. 

I continue, “We don’t know much- a detective we know – Hor-, er, Carl. Whatever. He came over to Brian’s yesterday. He’s been let go from the force. Have you met him?”

“Carl?” He doesn’t appear to recognize the name.

“Well, formerly Detective Horvath…”

Hunter gets a look on his face that I can’t read- but I’m sure he recognizes the name. “…No.” He says after a moment.

“Hunter, really?”

He looks out the window. “Yes, really… no.” I don’t believe him. And a glance at Brian proves he doesn’t, either.

“Hunter, if you know Horvath, what’s the deal? Just say so….” Brian says.

“I don’t, okay?” He insists.

I decide to let it go for now. “Fine. Anyway, he’s the one who found Mr. Reikert’s body- we all know you know him at least.” Brian shoots me a look. Well, he does know him, I think. I watch Hunter’s face, but he remains impassive, staring at the taillights ahead of us. “Anyway, he says that he doesn’t believe that Reikert committed suicide, like the papers said. The wound just didn’t seem consistent, he says. Before the investigators came to the scene, he went inside and picked up a few things.”

“Wow- isn’t that like punishable by life in prison?” Hunter asks. “Tampering with evidence? Disrupting a crime scene? Something like that?”

“You must watch Law and Order,” Brian mutters. 

“Maybe. Fuck if I know,” I continue. I don’t watch Law and Order. “But that’s not really the point. Anyway, the stuff he picked up were a bunch of letters, some dated, some not, some photographs, and an address book.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the small stack. “Here. You can take a look.”

Brian glances at me again. Hunter takes the small stack of documents. Brian reaches up and flicks on the overhead light so Hunter can see.

“Oh, wow...” he mumbles as he looks through the photos. 

“Hey, what’s the deal with that one?” I ask, when he gets to the one of Reikert and Kemp at the picnic. 

“Ken and dad were going out then. The cops had some picnic thing at Federal Park. Dad brought me, and I brought J. Besides J and me, it was mostly a bunch of overweight farts eating potato salad and drinking beer. I always wondered if that was legal- them drinking beer out in the park like that,” he chuckles softly.

I reach over the front seat and point to the figures on the blanket behind the tree. “That’s Horvath, we think,” I say. Hunter squints to see. Suddenly his face goes white and he drops the picture as if it were searing hot. Brian looks over sharply. 

“What?” He demands. 

Hunter takes a deep breath and reaches for the picture again. “Nothing. I just thought...”

“No. What?” Brian repeats, more sternly.

“Well, I’d forgotten that my Mom was there. That’s her, on the blanket with that Horvath guy.”

I’m stunned. “What the fuck? She was there? Did she know you were there?”

“Of course, asshole. I’m right there, see?” He points to the blur catching the Frisbee. “She and that Horvath guy were dating, I guess. I don’t know. I kept out of her way as much as I could.”

“Let me get this straight: she knew all along that you were with your dad by then? Why wasn’t she trying to get custody of you then? I don’t get it...”

Hunter shrugs. “I guess she just didn’t need the money.” He says simply. I cringe. It’s just so disgusting. 

Brian’s taken aback, too, and is quiet a moment. He clears his throat, “So, do you know if Horvath knew Reikert very well?”

”Yeah, I think he did. I mean, I didn’t go out with dad and Ken very often. Dad was pretty p’o’d when he found out that J…” he stops.

“We know Ken and J- er, Jason- had a thing on the side.”

“Oh.” Hunter seems to digest that information. “Well, when he found out, he was mad. I don’t know what happened, really. Except dad didn’t see Ken for a while. Or ever again- I dunno. He also tried to keep me from hanging out with J. He said it was dangerous- that J was involved in something dangerous. He just said to stay away from that entire scene.”

“You didn’t know what he was involved in?” Brian asks.

Hunter is silent. 

“Hunter?”

He just shakes his head, but I’m not convinced by a long shot. Brian isn’t either. He sighs. “So, when was that?”

“I dunno. Some time before J disappea—or, I guess a little before the time he was found dead by Michael’s mom. I didn’t know what happened to him.” Hunter is starting to sound tired. Brian glances at me in the rearview mirror- it’s instantly evident to me that he’s worried shitless about Michael. 

It’s quiet for several minutes. Hunter’s eyes begin to droop. Poor little shit, must be exhausted after so much anxiety. Actually, I’m working hard to muster up much sympathy for the jerk. He opens his eyes slightly, leans over against Brian, and curls up like a kid, eyes closed, small smile on his lips. Despite Brian having had fun at my expense with Hunter earlier, this is just too much, and I poke Hunter on the shoulder to wake him up.

“Justin- forget it. He’s out.” Brian whispers. “Don’t worry about it.” And it would appear he’s right- Hunter doesn’t stir. I sigh. 

“Fucker,” I whisper under my breath. 

Brian, serious now, waves it away and says quietly, “Okay, Sherlock, what do you think we should do now? I mean: fuck. It’s goddamned late. We can’t exactly take this to the loft,” he gestures towards Hunter. “And Ben isn’t an option. And Emmett- I really don’t think that’d be a good idea. Emmett keeps a secret like a fucking sixth grade girl…” 

“How about Lindsay and Melanie?” I suggest. “I mean, who would think to look for Hunter there? Except maybe Mikey.”

Brian reaches behind with his right hand, grasps me behind my head, and pulls me in for a kiss, craning slightly to keep one eye on the traffic. “Brilliant,” he mutters. I grin.


	14. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

We drive on in silence. The highway is practically deserted now. For a while I rub Brian’s shoulders to keep him awake, but pretty soon I find myself getting drowsy. 

“Do you mind if I sleep a little while?”

“Only if you give me your nut roll.”

“I ate that an hour ago,” I admit, sheepishly.

He looks at me quizzically in the rear mirror. “You ate your own nut roll?” He winks. “Now that’s a neat trick. I’m surprised you ever leave the house…”

I roll my eyes, smiling. “I ate the Baby Ruth that I bought at the store.” I clarify needlessly.

He sighs. “Fucker.” Then he gets a glint in his eye. “Can I have yours then?”

I laugh a little. “Brian. Jesus.” I hesitate. “Later,” I grin. Searching my pockets, I find something. “Wanna piece of gum?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He says, resigned. He reaches back his open palm. I hand him a stick and then lean back, relaxing against the backseat. 

“Is your fucking seatbelt on?” Brian asks suddenly. 

“Yes, mother.”

He nods. “Fucker.” He repeats.

I close my eyes. God, I’m so tired. I vaguely realize that the overhead light is still on. I start to say something, but fuck it. But I’m just too tired to bother.

I’ve started to doze lightly when I suddenly feel the car swerve hard, “Jesus!!” Brian yells.

My eyes fly open and I see us veering onto the shoulder of the highway- then everything seems to happen in slow motion- “Brian!!!!” The screech of brakes as Brian stomps on the pedal. A sudden crash from the driver’s side; violently pushing us to the right. The pull of the seatbelt as it catches and holds me against the seat. Careening sideways, lurching towards the concrete wall at the edge of the road. Smashing into the wall with a jolt. The squeal of tires peeling out on the road. 

From some other car. 

Because suddenly we’re just there. It’s silent except for the fading sound of the other car and the vague hiss of the dead engine. It’s completely still, the front of the car on the passenger side crumpled against the cement wall, the one still-lit driver’s side headlight illuminating plumes of smoke and steam that billow from beneath the hood. The air bags slowly deflate. Immediately I look over to Brian. I’m shaking.

“Bri... Brian...?” I whisper. I look down at myself- I feel okay. Physically, I mean. I quickly unbuckle my seat belt and lean over the front seat. “Brian??” He’s rubbing his left arm. The door on his side is pushed inward and I can see that the impact was hard enough that it had hit him in the side. Hard.

He looks at me with wide eyes. “Justin, are you alright?” He immediately reaches around for me with his right hand and touches my face, rubs his fingers through my hair, his eyes filled with fear and concern, flicking over me for any sign of injury. “Justin?” His voice more insistent, scared. Blood is coursing down his cheek from a wound on his head.

“I’m okay.” I stammer. “Are you? Are you okay?” Jesus, the door is really smashed in.

He’s trembling. I’m trembling. “Fuck. Jesus.” He says. “Hunter!” I glance over and Hunter is out cold; the window on his side of the car has a spider web-like pattern from the impact of his head. And there’s a smear of blood. “Jesus Christ!”

“Should you shake him, try to wake him?”

“No- he may have a spinal injury or something. FUCK!” Brian suddenly looks a little woozy. “Call….” He doesn’t finish; he just brings his right hand up to his head, rubbing his temple. There’s a huge gash there. Oh, my God. He looks down at his hand, covered in blood. “Christ…”

Then I see his leg. Jesus Christ, his leg. “Brian…” I gasp. “Your leg! Brian! Your leg!” 

He looks down. There’s a huge chunk of sharp plastic from the door lodged in his thigh. Blood is spreading at an alarming rate from the wound, darkening the denim of his jeans. He looks at it like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing, like it’s not his leg. God, there’s just so much blood! I’m shaking. “Oh, my God.” He seems to swoon a little.

I reach a quivering hand into his jacket pocket and grab the cell. Brian looks like he’s going to pass out. I dial 911 in a panic. There’s so much blood. Jesus. My God, he’s going to fucking bleed to death! “Brian, don’t close your eyes! Brian!! BRIAN! Stay with me! BRIAN!!!!”

Oh God, oh God, oh God. 

“911 emergency, what is your emergency?”


	15. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

Fuck, I hate hospitals. Fucking hate them. The smell, the sterility, the white walls and tile floors. The nurses in their stupid white dresses and sneakers. The orderlies... well, actually, they’re the one redeeming feature. The male ones, anyway. But, all in all, I have been in hospitals far more than most people and I personally can’t stand them. I practically grew up in Pittsburgh General. Then, worse, being there after... 

Ooookay. Let’s just not go there and focus on what we’re doing here, Kinney: we’re finally at the desk, checking out. Well, yeah, we’re checking out. Hunter is still in a coma. Jesus H. Christ. The woman hands me a small baggie with my wallet and cell phone in it. I pull out my wallet and fish out my credit card. Well, one of them. Sigh.

I had to call Ben; and he’s been here by Hunter’s bedside for the two days since the accident. Well, actually, Justin called him. I wasn’t in any condition to. Hunter’s prognosis is… well, he’s in ICU. They don’t know one way or the other. But. They’re optimistic. We’ve given them false information – just like when he was in the hospital with that kidney infection. Ben’s his uncle. Justin and I are… his friends, or something. I don’t know. Justin let Ben handle it. Hunter sustained a pretty severe head trauma.

Me? I glance down; my left arm is in a fucking cast up to my shoulder and my left thigh has a huge bandage - they had to fucking cut through my jeans. Yet one less article of clothing. Fuck. They gave me a pair of sweats to wear- I feel like a frumpy frat boy. And I have stitches in my fucking head.

A paramedic walks up; I vaguely recall him as one of the ones who brought us in. I’m handing the woman behind the desk my credit card. Even when I was fucking bleeding all over the car half conscious, my gaydar had gone off when he’d yanked open the driver door and looked at me. 

Kinney, you are such a sick fuck. 

I choose to ignore him. I shift my weight onto my good leg, leaning on the crutch. She takes the card. The woman raises an eyebrow. Yes, dear, it’s a platinum card. A platinum card that’s nearly maxed out. What’s another few thousand dollars of debt, I think. I don’t have insurance anymore, so it’s all I can do. Ben has said he’ll find some way to pay for Hunter- but I told him I’d pay for it. Or, as much as I can, anyway. ICU, life support—being sick is fucking expensive. But, again: what the hell…

“You were lucky, Mr. Kinney- had that piece of plastic gone a fraction of an inch deeper, your femoral artery would have been severed completely.” The paramedic says, startling me. I’d forgotten he was there.

Lucky. Lucky? Some maniac ran us off the road into a cement fucking wall! I shoot him a look and say nothing. He looks down shyly, but doesn’t go away. Justin, next to me, seems to take notice and puts his arm around my waist. I can’t help but smile a little. And cringe. He’s telling the guy to back off ‘his man’. Good lord. 

I can feel Justin trembling though, which makes me wonder if he was even aware of what he’d done. Consciously, anyway.

The paramedic sees the gesture and smiles politely before wishing us well and walking back to the doors to go outside. The woman behind the desk had seen the gesture too. I see a small frown of disapproval. Bitch. I lean down and give Justin a big fat juicy kiss just for her benefit. Justin grins, albeit weakly. He’s hardly said two words since we were gurney’d into the ambulance. But waiting for the ambulance, my God. He was hysterical- crying, yelling at me how much he loves me, not to die, not to close my eyes, not to sleep. I was pretty loopy by the time the paramedics arrived, but he’d sure succeeded in keeping me awake.

Once we’re paid up, we go to the waiting room to get a cup of coffee and figure out what the hell to do next. 

“So, what the fuck now?” I say, grimacing at the bitter brew as I lower the Styrofoam cup from my lips. Jesus, this coffee tastes like someone threw a shoe in hot water.

Justin takes a sip of his hot cocoa before replying. Thank God he wasn’t hurt- not a scratch, even. Just bruised ribs from the seat belt. Maybe we were lucky after all. 

“I don’t know. I have no idea.” He answers, distractedly. We’re quiet a few moments. I look over at him. His hands are shaking badly as he attempts to hold the cup steady. I lift it from his grasp, placing it on the table next to us and take his hands in my good one, pulling them to my good thigh to warm them. Then I realize Justin’s hands aren’t cold at all. They’re warm and clammy. Abruptly he looks at me with what appears to be panic in his eyes. “Brian, are you sure you’re okay?”

What brought that on? We’ve been here two days, and we’re free to go. Of course I’m okay. “You heard the doc. I’m just a little banged up.” I notice his lower lip quivering a little and I give his hands a squeeze. “Justin, we’re fine. I’m fine. It’s okay. Relax.”

His jaw clenches, fighting back tears. What is happening? I’ve not seen him cry for quite some time, and it always unnerves me. Clench harder, Sunshine. 

“Then who the FUCK hit us? God, your wrist is shattered, your leg is torn up, and your head,” Justin reaches up and gently rubs a trembling thumb along the bandage over my eye, “Jesus, Brian, that is such a nasty gash. Brian… Brian, you could have been killed.” He shudders but is successful in resisting his apparent urge to cry. So far. “And Hunter… fuck, he’s lying in a goddamned coma.” 

I look into his eyes with as much confidence and calm as I can muster, given that I’m pretty shaken as well. Because I know he’s right. Because what’s actually scarier to me is that he could have been killed. “Justin, listen to me. Look at me.” He does. I notice one lone tear make its way down his cheek from the corner of his eye. “Hunter’s most likely going to be fine. And I’m right here. I didn’t die. If the person who hit us were really trying to kill me, or him, or us, they’d have stuck around to finish the job. I think someone is simply trying to scare us.” Actually, I’m not convinced that they weren’t trying to kill us, but I’m keeping that to myself. For the entire two days we’ve been here, we haven’t had a chance to talk to each other about what happened- we’ve hardly even seen each other. I was in surgery for most of the first night, then ICU, then I finally got a room- he could come sit with me there, but I was pretty out of it. I notice that he looks utterly wrung out- I doubt he’s slept more than an hour or two since we arrived. And while I’m grateful that Ben was here for him, I get the feeling he’s been holding in all of his emotions until now. 

“You’re exhausted.” I say, pulling one of his hands up to my lips for a small kiss. I hold it against my cheek and look at him intently. “And I suspect you’re in shock still- hell, I’m in shock still. But it’s alright. Okay?” I sound so lame. My usual Kinney panache is failing me at the moment. Dammit. I fucking hate this. He lowers his eyes but I reach out and gently to pull his chin up. Not until I see my hand do I realize I’m using the arm with the cast. Which, I think, is what triggers him to suddenly start crying full force. Shit. Nice, Kinney.

“Fuck me,” he sputters, exasperated with his inability to control himself. I just pull him over to my chair and hold him in my lap. “I’m sorry. I’m just fucking scared, Brian. There was so much blood... there was so much blood! I’ve never seen... Brian, you were so... Brian I was so scared I was going to lose you...” He says between hiccups. I flash to the parking garage at the hotel and close my eyes, trying to push the memories away. “This is all so- all too familiar.” He pauses, allowing himself to gulp some air into his lungs. I kiss his cheek softly, tasting his salty tears. “Fuck, I hate hospitals. Fucking hate them.” He mutters. I smile despite myself. I have my own personal mindreader. For some reason, that’s comforting right now instead of terrifying. He clings to me gently, wary of bumping into any wounds. I pull him closer and shut my eyes hard. Kinney, don’t you start, too. I quickly wipe my eyes and shake my head to get rid of the memories that are flooding to the surface. I can’t- I really just can’t relive that right now. Ever. I shake my head again and sit up straight. Okay. I’m okay. Say something.

“I’m sorta scared, too, Justin.” I admit, quietly. Not what I wanted to say. But, well, I am. “But don’t worry. Nothing bad’ll happen to you. We’ll be fine. We are fine.” Time to change the fucking subject. “So, let’s find a way to fucking get out of here- how ‘bout it? Ben will call us as soon as there’s a change with Hunter.” 

But he’s still sobbing softly, so I simply hold him until he calms down. I ignore the stares of disgust, disbelief and curiosity we’re getting from the others in the room. Fuckers. 

After some time, Justin finally sits up, wiping his face with his sleeve. 

“Okay now?” I ask. 

He just nods, sniffling a little. “Except that I feel like a weak little shit.” He mumbles.

I squeeze his arm and push him gently off of my lap. “You are anything but a weak little shit, Justin.” I say. “You’re pretty brave, actually. Taking charge like that.” Had he not called 911, I’d probably be dead and so would Hunter. “Besides,” I add, “it’s probably just allergies…”

He smiles a little and sits in the chair next to me. “I wish we’d seen who it was...” 

“Yeah. Me too.” God, it’s all a fucking blur. “It happened so fucking quickly- suddenly this car was next to me, veering me to the right and then WHAM! We’re flattened against a concrete wall in a crumpled, smoking Skylark.” I close my eyes, trying for the umpteenth time to get a picture of the car, the driver- but I really don’t think I even had time to look over. I only remember how dark it was out. And I vaguely remember that the overhead light had been on.

“No big loss, of course,” I add. I hated that fucking car. “Except now we don’t have any car at all.” I reach for my coffee for another sip and wince. Miserable stuff. I toss the still full cup into the trashcan beside me. “I wish I’d had more information to tell the cops. I simply didn’t see anything. Just darkness. Fuck! And your mother is going to fucking tan my hide.”

“No, she won’t.” Justin says very quietly. “I talked to her. I told her. She’s just worried about you. That you’ll be okay.”

I’m immediately skeptical but I hold my tongue. I pause. God. “Sunshine.” I say softly, not really knowing what I’m going to say. I want to say, ‘Sorry for almost having you killed for the fucking second time in your relatively short life,’—but I don’t. I can’t say it. I just look at him. His eyes are red, but he’s looking at me like he’s reading me.

“Brian. No.” He says. His eyes start brimming again. 

What? Can this shit really read my mind???

“Brian. NO.” I feel myself shudder and then I feel his arms around me. “NO. Please. Don’t think that--- just no! NO--” He says emphatically. 

I push my feelings down. I take a deep breath and feel a shiver. Justin suddenly grabs me close and clings to me. I fucking- God, I cling back. Clinging… I don’t ‘do’ clinging. I pull back a little. A little. As much as I fucking can.

Then. 

I glance up and I’m relieved to see that he’s not shaking anymore. That’s what matters. He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes me a little uncomfortable. “Brian…”

Action. “We should probably call Debbie or Lindsay or someone. We need someone to pick us up.” He nods. But suddenly, I don’t have the energy. I don’t even fucking know where we are, exactly. A little town hospital somewhere between glorious Pittsburgh and a rest stop in New York State. 

Jesus. 

I hand Justin my cell. “You up for doing that?” He takes the phone. 

Then I notice there’s a smear of blood on the keypad- God, I hope he doesn’t see that. But I see he does. I take the phone back and wet my thumb, wiping it away as quickly as I can. I look at him, but he seems to take it in stride, albeit shakily. 

Taking another deep breath, he reaches for the phone again and then pauses. “Who should I call?”

“Lindsay. Debbie will freak out- or is freaking already- and I really don’t feel like dealing with her right now, you know? Hit speed dial then 4,” I mutter, reaching for his cup of cocoa. It’s so much better than that shit I had. I drink it while he’s talking, and hand him the empty cup. ‘Fucker!’ He mouths. 

Sunshine’s back... phew.

God, my head is killing me. My leg aches. My arm is stiff. Bitch, bitch, bitch, Kinney.

But 25 stitches. Geez. And another 4 in my head. Fuck if it will leave a scar- I’ll sue, I swear it. But, all in all, that’s my new personal record. Yippee skip. I look down at my thigh and remember seeing that big hunk of Skylark lodged there. God, there was a lot of blood- I nearly passed out; they said Justin may have saved my life by keeping me from succumbing to blacking out. More than just dialing 911, he probably saved my life by doing that, as well. I make a mental note to tell him that. Well, we’ll see. I don’t want him to get all cocky. I hate cocky. And Justin’s already plenty cocky. In more ways than one, I smile to myself. There’s one kind of cocky I do like, of course.

While Justin continues to talk to Lindsay, I close my eyes and try to think back, to remember something. That was absolutely no accident. Whoever it was deliberately crashed into us and forced us into the wall. Unless it was a case of mistaken identity- or some form of peculiar road rage, although the highway was completely empty- it seems we’re targets now. Why, by whom- who knows. Well, the why is somewhat obvious- except only Deb and Horvath really know we’re... what the fuck are we? On the case? I let out a little laugh. Maybe I should bag any ideas of going back into advertising and become a P.I. 

Except, of course, I suck at it.


	16. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

Lindsay finally arrives at the hospital at around 4:30 in the afternoon, Gus in tow. We walk- well, Brian hobbles- to the car. Once we’re in, she turns to Brian stretched out in the back seat. As stretched out as he can be with the baby-seat in the way. He’s smiling and shaking little plastic keys in front of Gus. Gus is giggling out of control. “Daddee! Daddee!”

“Keeeeys, can you say ‘keys’, Gus?”

“Keeeeys...” More giggles. He reaches for the keys and Brian gives them to him.

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Brian pauses and lets out a small snort. “Fuck if I know. Some lunatic forced us off the road.”

“Fuckk if Aye know….” Gus mimics. Brian winces slightly when Lindsay shoots him a look in the rearview mirror. Gus continues to look at his father, smiling the Kinney grin. God, they look so much alike. “Looon- ah-tick.” He giggles. Brian glances over at him and can’t help but let out a short laugh. Actually, Gus is like a breath of fresh air after that drama in the waiting room.

“I know that,” Lindsay says, trying to stay all business. I have told her the story. “I mean, what the FUCK is going on?”

I fidget a little. Lindsay doesn’t usually swear, especially in front of Gus- and especially when he’s quite obviously paying pretty close attention. So, despite the ‘cuteness’ of the moment- her mood’s a little weird. “Can we just get out of here?” I say. I want to get as far away from this place as possible. I want to get away from the nightmares. Ha. As if physically leaving the fucking hospital will make them go away. I shake my head to rid myself of thoughts. 

Plus, it’s already getting dark out.

Lindsay eyes me and then sighs. “Where to?” She asks, resigned.

“Fucking goddamned HOME.” Brian sighs, looking out the window towards the hospital entrance doors.

“Fuuckin’ goddammmmm… home!” Gus squeals. 

Brian’s brows shoot up and I see him lean down. “Shhhhhh!” He whispers, putting a finger to his lips. Gus beams up at him conspiratorially, putting his tiny finger next to Brian’s on Brian’s lips. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, Sonny Boy!” Brian says quietly against the two fingers. 

“Ssshhhsshh… trouble….” Gus whispers- and splutters- and Brian smiles at him warmly, then glances at me, giving me a wink.

I glimpse over at Linds, and see that she’s got a small smile on her lips. Then she arches an eyebrow but says nothing, her official momness taking over. 

And we’re on our way. Thank God.


	17. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: LINDSAY

I need answers here, boys. Something is happening and I’ll be damned if someone’s going to kill the father of my son. Or Justin. Or Hunter, for that matter. 

But they aren’t talking. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Brian sighs in the back. “Okay. What the hell. A few days ago after the brunch, Horvath showed up at the loft. He said that there was something more to Kemp and Reikert’s death than what the papers were saying- that he suspects Stockwell had something to do with their deaths. Something like that. He showed us some letters and photos- the letters were from Reikert to his lover, who just so happens to be Hunter’s father.” Whoa. “So, turns out that Reikert had a fling with Kemp. And that Kemp was Hunter’s best friend. Although Reikert hadn’t known that until Hunter and his dad- Reikert’s lover- showed up at their door one day when Jason was leaving. Caused a little scene. I’m really not sure if that has any significance or not, but anyway, Reikert later warned Gary- Hunter’s dad- that Jason was blackmailing Stockwell. Presumably about their little fling... right around the time Stockwell had put his name in the hat to run for mayor. Since Reikert had been Stockwell’s partner on the force, it wouldn’t look very good if it made the news that he’d had a love affair with a boy prostitute. While they were still partners. And Stockwell did nothing about it. The gay factor, the prostitute factor, the boy factor- all would be damaging. He told Gary that he believed Stockwell had Kemp killed. And that Hunter had known about the blackmailing, had been in on it, and was therefore also in danger. As was Gary, by association.” Brian pauses again. I glance to the backseat to see him holding Gus’ hand, stroking it with his thumb. Gus has fallen asleep with a smile on his face. I smile inadvertently. He’s a good father. I swear, if I weren’t a dyke… I let that thought go. Anyway, I wish Mel wasn’t so unreasonable where Brian is concerned. I see Justin out of the corner of my eye watching the two in the backseat. He seems apprehensive or something, even though he’s quite obviously admiring the two.

“Okay, so... go on.” I say.

“Anyway, Horvath also said that he didn’t believe that Reikert committed suicide. Wound wasn’t consistefnt or something. He believed that he somehow got mixed up in the mess with Stockwell and had been killed, too.”

“Why would Stockwell kill him?”

“Excelllllent question. I don’t know. Unless it was something about the fact that it was about to hit the news that he’d killed Jason- that Reikert had killed Jason. That coming out would have a similar effect on Stockwell’s campaign as Jason going public about his affair with Reikert. Although, add to it the fact that Stockwell’s partner was not only a horny gay John to a boy prostitute, but a murderer as well.”

“But killing him doesn’t seem logical... the press would still find out.”

“Maybe if it looked like suicide, it would be easier to say that the guy was imbalanced, that since he’d left the force, he’d gone over some edge. I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense to me, either.” I look back. Gus stirs a little, opens his eyes to see me in the front seat and his Dad next him rubbing his hand; he sighs happily and closes his eyes again. “At all.” Brian adds, watching his son.

“So, now he’s after you? Why? How would he know you’re suspicious of him?”

“Fuck, Lindsay… if any of it made sense, it wouldn’t be a mystery, now would it?” Brian smirks. 

Smartass.


	18. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

Lindsay finally drops us at the loft at around 11PM. I help Brian change the dressing on his leg- the wound is nasty and deep, the stitches still fresh. Brian looks at it in disgust. “Guess I’ll be out of commission for awhile…” he mutters. “And scarred for life.”

“Scars are sexy. Plus, I can still suck you off, you know…” I grin. He grins back with that wicked smile I love. Our moods have lifted slightly now that we’re back at the loft.

“True.” He says, leaning down to give me a kiss. “My, you’re such the resourceful young fellow,” he winks. But then I notice him wincing as I gently rub on some of the ointment they gave us at the hospital. “Sorry…” I say, before applying a fresh bandage. He doesn’t respond. “Maybe I suck you off tomorrow,” I add. “Besides, I’m fucking exhausted.” And I am. I’ve hardly slept since we arrived at the hospital. I was so scared for Brian. Fuck, I was so scared… and the goddamned nightmares. ‘Course, there were some fucking great dreams too…

But the nightmares…

He just nods. “Fucking car accident.”

I sigh and turn my attention to the bandage on his head. I slowly start to peel back the tape. “Yep. But, more like ‘fucking car wreck’.” I correct, giving a quick yank to remove the bandage.

“Ouch! Shit! Be fucking careful!” He says, pulling away slightly.  
\---------------------------------------------

I wake up late- my ribs ache a little and even though I was exhausted and it’s late, I really didn’t sleep very well. I kept waking up with these fucking images in my head- I’d wake up with a fucking hard-on one minute and the fucking cold sweats the next. Dreams. Too many dreams. I look over at Brian. He’s still fast asleep, breathing deeply. We aren’t entangled like usual this time. I reach over and lightly brush a wisp of hair from his brow- the un-bandaged side. Sighing, I decide to get up and start some coffee. 

As I pad down the steps, I notice that the message light on the answering machine is blinking. I carefully turn down the volume and hit the play back button. “Kinney. It’s Carl. Listen, I thought you should know that Hunter’s mother…. She was found dead on I-95. They don’t know if it was an accident or not, but… well, I’ve told Debbie. And Michael knows. I don’t know if Michael will be telling Hunter yet or not- but, anyway – I thought I’d warn you about that in case he does call and is really upset. Give me a call when you get this- especially if you’ve heard from Hunter and know where he is.”

Old news, I think. Then there’s another beep. “Hey, Brian- it’s Michael.” I immediately look over to Brian’s sleeping form, my heart leaping in my chest- but I wait and hear it out. “Fuck… listen, Hunter ran away after you talked to him- I looked everywhere- everyfuckingwhere! I can’t find him, and so I took the car out to find him, and I’m stranded! The car’s shot to hell- do NOT KILL ME. I’m getting it fixed- it will be just like new by Wednesday, the guy said. Anyway, I’ll be coming home in case Hunter’s gone back to Ben’s- I’ll be stopping at the rest stop first of course, although I doubt he’s there. I waited for hours…----BEEP!”

The tape cut him off. Still: ‘Hee heeeeee!’ I think, gleefully. I bound up the steps and sit on the bed next to Brian. “Brian!” I whisper. “Brian! Wake up!”

“Hrmph… G’way…” Brian mumbles groggily.

“Brian!” 

“Jusss… sleepin’…!”

“Brian, there was a message from Michael- he’s okay!”

Brian sits straight up, eyes wide open- and suddenly winces and reaches for his head. “Fuck me…!” He shakes his head as though he’s suddenly dizzy. “Mikey?” He manages to say, his voice still thick from sleep.

“Yeah! Mikey! He’d gone out in the car to look for Hunter after he’d run off- and the car broke down. He says it’ll be fixed-“ I look at the clock. Like that will tell me what fucking day it is. Duh. I think a second. “It’s supposed to be fixed by today- today’s Wednesday, right? And he’s coming back here, in case Hunter is at Ben’s!”

Brian flops back onto the bed, sighing deeply. “Fuck.” Is all he says. He raises hand to his face and massages his eyes with his fingers. I lean down and curl up against him, my head on his chest. 

Then I feel a sudden shudder wrack his frame. 

Jesus Christ. 

He’s crying. 

Softly. 

Quietly. 

But he’s definitely crying. I just wrap my arms around him and lay there. 

He takes a deep breath. “Call Debbie.” He says quietly. “Or, no. Wait. Call Ben. Or…”

“Brian, shhh.” I squeeze him tight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry. In the loft… in the parking garage at the hotel, when he was trying to get me to remember the… the bashing. That was probably the closest I’ve seen. He’s always so goddamned strong. He was so strong in the waiting room. I shut my eyes hard. I was such a fucking wus. 

Although, he didn’t make me feel that way at all. 

But God. All those fucking dreams I had there. How can you sleep only like 5 minutes max in 2 plus days and dream like I did? I put it out of my mind and look at him, his hands over his eyes- I can barely make out the traces of moisture around his fingers. Brian. The so-called unfeeling, selfish son of a bitch. Always, always the one cleaning up everyone else’s messes, always putting on a front – and I know for sure now it’s a front – like he’s immune to everything. Like he doesn’t care. 

Fuck me if he isn’t actually the most sensitive person I’ve ever fucking met. ‘Course if I told him that, he’d probably strangle me. But I can read him now. No one else seems to be able to- except Mikey and Linds, I guess. Sort of Deb- but that’s clouded a bit by her mother-hennishness in connection with Michael. 

Jesus. 

“Justin.”

“Yes?” I hug him harder. I want to be here for him. I think again about how tender he was with me after the bashing. How… fuck, he seemed to have suffered more post-traumatic stress than I did… which shows again… how much he--

“Get off me. Run a shower. Make some coffee. Pour me some guava juice. Oh- and toast me a bagel.”

I sigh slightly, although I really can’t help but smile a little. 

Brian’s back. 

Although I love both Brians. All Brians.


	19. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: STOCKWELL- SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER

“GINA!” Where IS that woman! God, I hope she didn’t go to her mother’s in a snit because I’ve been working late all week. I just walked into the house and I’m bone tired. The backlash from that ad of Kinney’s is making my daily life at work a living hell. Fucking two-faced fag. The press won’t leave me alone, and we’ve had to reopen the Kemp case. We’re getting nowhere. Fast. I fired Horvath to make it look like he was the one who mishandled everything. I honestly regretted doing that. He was a good cop. But after I learned that he was dating Kinney’s fag best friend’s mother… well, it changed my opinion of him. I’m frankly glad to be rid of him. 

I glance around the darkened front hall and snap on the light. Then I see the note taped to the mirror over the credenza. I peer at it, noticing from the corner of my eye that my reflection behind it looks exhausted and drained.  
Honey:

I know you’ve been working hard, and the press has been relentless ever since that truly awful lie of an ad came out before the election. I honestly still cannot believe the gall of that horrible, horrible “man”- or whatever sub-human being that kinds is. That gay. 

I pause and smile a small smile. Even at her most livid, she never cusses. We rarely argue, but when we do, she can get so incredibly angry- enraged- almost to the point where I back away from her- but never once have I heard her cuss. I remember a few years ago when she had asked me to watch Scotty while she went to get some diapers from the closet, since she’d run out; I had turned away from the changing table for a split second and at that moment, she returned to the room. I felt like she was going to actually pick up a lamp and throw it at me, and then carve me to pieces with the shards! She’s so protective- like a mother bear, I think. But: not even one cuss word in the screaming tirade I endured. I chuckle. She was so contrite after that- especially, I think, because the sheer volume of her words had caused Scotty to start crying. I shake my head of my reverie and refocus my attention on the note.

Love, please know it will all pass, soon. I’ve taken the kids to Mom’s for a few days, just so you can have some peace and quiet. Know that I love you, would do anything for you. And don’t work so hard, sweetheart. I’ve left you three dinners in the fridge, in Tupperware- all your favorites! When you get home, just pop the lid a little on one, put it in the microwave, and heat for about 3 minutes or so. There’s plenty of bottled water, iced tea and lemonade, as well. I will call you to check in. I love you.

Kisses,  
Gina

I pull the note off of the mirror and look at myself full on. I am so utterly tired. I shake off my coat and throw it on the chair by the door. Geen always takes it off my shoulders and hangs it up. I snort; I have a fleeting image of myself going to work tomorrow in a rumpled old trenchcoat, like Columbo. I glance at the mail in my hand. Bills, bills, bills. I throw them on the credenza and go to the kitchen. The phone rings and I reach over and answer. 

“Chief Stockwell? It’s Ben Polt from the Pittsburgh Daily News, and I was hoping I could ask you some questions about this Kemp—“

“No comment!” I bark and slam down the phone. Fucking Kinney. Damned fag. Him and his blond fag sidekick. I take a deep breath and try to get a grip on myself. I’ve become a completely different person, lately! Even though I’m a cop, have been for years- and have been surrounded by foul-mouthed losers and cops both- only now do I find that I’ve developed quite a mouth. And I’m so angry all the time. I’ve always prided myself on my control, but lately, I’m so on edge- and even falling off of it… once in awhile.

I walk to the fridge and open it, surveying the contents. I choose the fried chicken and mashed potatoes, popping the lid a little like Geen told me. I throw it in the microwave and hit 3:00, then slump back against the counter. I find I’m gritting my teeth, and all I want, all I want is Kinney, his… his lover… all of them fucking faggots dead! And then I want to dance a goddamned jig on their graves. The thought makes me start grinning.


	20. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

We’ve spent most of the day in the loft- mainly, waiting for Mikey to call. Plus, I’m in a fucked up mood and am in shit-assed shape- I ache all over. Actually, ache is hardly the word for it. I’m in agony. We promised each other that tomorrow, we would go try to find ol’Gair. And, at least suck each other off- I found myself wincing today whenever that mood struck (I was wincing a LOT). The wound on my thigh is incredibly painful, fuck it. And my head is killing me. 

Bitch, bitch, bitch….

We made calls. To Ben, who says Hunter’s condition has not yet changed. Ben sounded thoroughly worn out- but he was relieved that we’d heard from Michael. I told him I’d have Mikey call him from my phone. Ben forgot to take his cell when he dashed to the hospital. And, of course, Mikey doesn’t know he’s there. Besides, Michael might not have even tried Ben’s cell because of his stupid phone tapping paranoia. Christ. And we called Deb… and then we debated whether to tell Horvath about what happened. For whatever reason, Justin seems to think we shouldn’t. But, to be honest, I figure Deb’ll tell him anyway, so I just said fine. 

At around 10PM, as achy and sore as I feel, I’m going fucking stir-crazy. And it’s pretty evident to me that Justin’s about to climb the walls if we don’t do something. He’s been in a strange mood since the accident, although he tries to cover it with a million smiles and tons of activity. But: something’s bothering him. 

Right now, he’s in the kitchen bustling around, cleaning pots and pans or some such LOUD shit, and it’s driving me insane. I’m at my computer, surfing around on e-bay. I sold some of my shit on e-bay, and haven’t yet gone in to see what each thing went for. 

“Justin!” I bark. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Justin jumps a little, startled. “Fuck! What??”

“Let’s get out of here. You’re about to fly out of your skin. We can’t fuck. I’m stiff and need some loosening up. C’mon.” I get up slooooowly, then pause a split second. Hm. “And maybe we COULD fuck if I loosened up; that fucking shower didn’t help much...”

Justin immediately flashes that mind-numbing grin. “Where to?”

I pause to think. “Maybe just a walk? Or… or, the diner?” 

Although, I really don’t want to go there. Too many fucking people. But maybe he’s going crazy from being with me non-fucking-stop the last few… days. Or so…

“Sure! But let’s just go for a walk. A short one though, okay? It’s just the diner’s… well, there are too many people at the diner.”

I nod. “Smart boy.” I mutter. 

\-------------------------------- 

I am fucking wrung out by the time we get back to the loft, me hobbling with these goddamned- GODFORSAKEN crutches… a fucking WALK? Who’s fucking idea WAS this?

I shoot a glare at the back of Justin’s head. But then I sigh. 

Oh. Yeah.

So I busy myself, fumbling with my keys when Justin twists his in the lock. Fucker. He slides open the door and immediately I notice the light is on in the bathroom. And the door is closed. “Justin!” I whisper, grabbing his sleeve. He looks at me, startled, his jacket half shrugged off. He follows my eyes to the sliver of light under the bathroom door.

“What the --?” Justin whispers. “Did you leave the door closed after your shower? With the fan on? That might explain—“

”No.” I say simply. We tread- I hobble- forward very slowly; I look around for something to use as a weapon. All I see is a bottle of Beam on the counter- I grab it. I note that the bottle hadn’t been there before. And I see a glass in the sink. I have the bottle in my good hand, so I gently toss the crutches towards Justin. He catches them.

“Brian! No!” Justin hisses as I limp quietly- painfully- towards the bathroom. 

“Shhh!” I wave with my fucking casted arm for him to stay put, but he’s right behind me, his finger hooked inside my waistband. God, even whispering, I feel like surely whoever’s in there must hear us. I hear the bathroom cabinet close. Stealing my meds? Fuck that! But fuck if I don’t feel like a flipping cripple. Although, maybe it’s the adrenaline- but suddenly I don’t feel much pain. “Justin! Go back!” 

“Fuck that, Brian. I’m staying with you…” 

Stubborn ass.

The only light is the dim shine from a street lamp coming through the windows, the subdued glow from the kitchen’s evening lights, and the small light from under the bathroom door. We tiptoe- or whatever the fuck it is that I’m doing- closer.

The door swings open. “Fuck!!!” Justin screams as we both jump. I instinctively do three things, practically simultaneously- I lose all awareness of my condition and practically kill myself landing on both legs, I shove Justin further behind me with my good arm, gripping him behind me with my casted arm- then raise the good arm, with the bottle of Beam, and- somehow suddenly, vaguely, I know it’s Mikey, and I fucking collapse onto the floor, Justin falling with me- I stupidly raise my good arm again, threatening to do God knows what with the bottle. Some superhero. Fucking cripple. 

Then, I am quite quickly in fucking agony… 

Oh. My. GOD.

“SHIT!” I hear. Mikey. Through the pain I’m feeling, although I’m still shielding Justin for whatever the fuck reason, I know it really IS Mikey. 

Oh, my God, it’s Michael.

“GodDAMMit, MICHAEL!!” I yell. My shoulders slump and my raised arm drops to the floor with a clunk, the bottle still clenched in my fist. The adrenaline that had me coiled like a spring immediately dissipates into a mixture of relief, anger, and jittery nerves. And. Again: Unbelievable pain.

For some reason, I notice that I have goosebumps. I feel Justin lean against my back suddenly- I suspect he’s steadying himself after the shock. I, myself, am fucking dizzy.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE???” Jesus H. Christ, I could murder Michael. I regain my balance against Justin and cast a glance at the bottle in my hand- I consider it a few moments.

Michael, his arm supporting himself against the doorjamb, takes a few deep breaths. “Fuck… fuck me…” he takes one more breath.

Now all I am is pissed. Royally. I glare over at my so-called best friend, who’s been the source of my enormous concern, intense fear, my most incredible relief- and now, my fucking stroke. I continue to heft the bottle in my hand, although I’m still crumpled helpless on the floor. I cast an eye his way that I hope conveys how I’m considering fucking killing him right now. Instead, I use Justin’s body to wangle my way up, wincing the whole time- hopefully not visibly- and lope-stalk over to the kitchen, pull out a tall glass, and pour myself about a cup of whiskey. Jesus. H. Christ. 

Justin is up, brushing himself off. I look at him closely. He seems a bit shaken, but okay. Okay.

“Brian, not too much- if you want to take any pain medication,” Justin says quietly, coming towards me. “And I suspect you will want to after that fall. Are you okay?” He eyes my leg and then shifts his glance towards my head.

“Yes, Mom,” I hiss, leaning against the counter, my glare trained on Michael. I have to sit down or I’m going to collapse again, I swear it. I slowly lower myself onto one of the stools. Justin, my ever-faithful sidekick, reaches over to help me. I sigh. Remind me never to be a helpless freak again. Theodore did one thing right when he made that living will. 

I push that memory away.

Michael looks me up and down. “Brian- what happened?” His voice is full of concern.

“Well, you scared the living shit out of me-“ I glance at Justin, “-US, that’s what happened.” I grimace, gulping down a large swallow of Beam. Out of the corner of my eye I see Justin reach for the glass to take it away from me and I yank it out of his reach.

“No- I mean, what happened? I mean, you’ve been hurt!”

Gawd, like mother, like son. “Yes, Sherlock. We were in a car- in a car wreck.” Hey, speaking of—“And speaking of cars—“

Justin shoots me a look, like now is not the time. I just stop talking and sigh. Asshole.

Mikey doesn’t seem to notice. He walks unsteadily into the living room. “Brian, I’m sorry. I just came from Ben’s, but he must have a late class- no one was there, and Horvath’s probably at Ma’s and I don’t really feel like dealing with him; and Emmett - well, I… I chose to come here,” he says hurriedly. “Did you get my message? Hunter fucking ran off after talking to you- I stayed at the rest stop for hours and then finally went driving around looking for him.” He’s still out of breath. I wait, trying to ignore the intense pain in my leg and head. “Then… then the car fucking broke down and I had to get it fixed.”

"Mikey, Hunter is…" I say, stealing a glance at Justin who has just walked past me over to the fridge. Jesus, is there ever a time when that boy doesn’t have an appetite? But then I notice him pause. 

Michael looks at me. "He’s what?"

I decide to be my blunt self. Go with whatcha know. "He’s in Mamaroneck. In a… in a coma. Mikey, you need to turn on your cell.”

Mikey just stares at me incredulously. Justin has come up next to me, sits down and puts his hand on my shoulder. It feels good. It’s the only thing that feels good right now. I take a long pull from my glass.

After a moment, I decide to continue. “He had called me. He said after he’d run off that morning that he had gone back to the rest stop after awhile and you were nowhere to be found. The car was gone. He was scared, so he called me.” I take a deep breath. Justin wraps his arms fully around me. “Why the fuck he did, I have no clue. But anyway, we went and picked him up. Next thing we know, we’re in Justin’s mother’s car, mangled on the side of the highway. Then, we’re in the fucking hospital.” Justin tenses a little. “Someone forced us off the road- and Hunter… he got pretty hurt." I look at Mikey for a moment. 

I see him look at Justin, then me. Then Justin, and then he fixes his gaze back on me. 

“Will Hunter be alright?” He whispers.

“Looks good,” I say, kind of lying. I really don’t know. “Here, call Ben.” I toss him my phone. He misses the catch and it clatters on the floor. Mikey never could catch for shit. For some reason, I flash to my father beating the fucking shit out of me when I missed catching the glass he’d thrown- or more accurately, hurled- at me for me to pour him another. I shake my head. Why the fuck did I just remember that? I reach for the tall glass of Beam on the counter beside me and take another drink. I’m in a fucked mood.

"My cell is actually dead… completely dead." Michael says, absently, wandering over to pick up the phone from the floor. 

“Just call Ben.” I say. “He’s with Hunter. Justin, do you have the number handy for the hospital? Ben doesn’t have his cell.”

Justin fishes around in his jacket pockets and pulls it out. He hands it to Michael.

“Does anyone else know he’s there?"

"No." God, I’m tired. All I want to do is go to fucking bed. The relief of knowing Michael is okay now is a potent sedative. But not a pain reliever, I note to myself wryly, grabbing the glass of Beam again.

Mikey goes into the bedroom for privacy. 

“How do you feel?” Justin asks, eyeing the glass in my hand disapprovingly. I ignore that.

“Like I never want to grow old and/or decrepit.” I say. “I’m calling my lawyer and making a living will first thing tomorrow. I’m dying at 39, tops.”

“You can’t afford a lawyer.” Smartass. I just smirk, shrug and lean back. 

My leg feels warm, wet and very painful. “Justin, would you mind looking at my leg? It feels like the wound may have opened up with that fall.” I wince, extending my leg. “My robe’s in the bathroom.” I look down and there’s a stain on my sweats where the bandage covers the wound and I groan. Terrific. I glance up and see Justin notices it, too.

Justin gives me a worried look that I wave off and then hurries away to get my robe. I gingerly stand up, shrug off my shirt, then gently take off my sweatpants before the blood fucking glues them to my leg- ow, ow, ow, ow, OW! Then I immediately notice this is the moment that Mikey comes back into the room.

”Oh, sorry.” He says. His eyes sweep over me. I wince. I must look almost like a cross between a clenched naked freak and a blood-covered mummy, I think. 

Justin walks over, apparently noticing Mikey staring at me. 

“Don’t worry- you won’t be subjected to viewing this hideously disfigured body long,” I grimace. 

Michael must suddenly realize that he’s gaping at me like he’s looking at a circus clown because he averts his eyes and places the cell on my desk. Justin smirks, rolls his eyes and hands me the robe. Then he turns his attention to my leg. 

“God, Brian- you might have to go back to the hospital!” He gasps as he peels back the bandage. I look down. It’s a mess of blood. “You might have pulled out some stitches.”

Shit. Last thing I need or want is to go back to the hospital and spend more goddamned money to have some quack look at me and say, ‘Yep. He’s hurt. That’ll be $500.’ 

“Let’s just clean it up and if it’s still gross in the morning, we’ll go.” I say quietly. Justin just nods and starts doing his nursing ‘duties’. I look down at him and can’t help snorting. 

“What?” He says, suspiciously.

“Justin Nightingale.” I say. Michael seems to decide that it’s now okay to come fully into the room. 

“Do you have any juice?” He asks. Then he looks at my leg. “God Brian! That looks serious! Do you want me to drive you to emergency?”

“No. It looks worse than it is,” I say simply, earning a look from Justin, who apparently does not agree with me. “And I have Guava.” I reply. Then consider a moment. “And Beam,” I add, holding up my glass. “So, Mikey- the car’s all better?” Justin rolls his eyes and finishes up with my leg. God, he’s suddenly in a sarcastic mood. I’m just glad he’s keeping his mouth shut. For the most part, anyway. He wanders over to the fridge.

“I’ll take the Beam, actually,” Michael says surprisingly, ignoring my question and reaching for the bottle. 

“You know, Mikey? That bottle was this close to being embedded in that little paranoid head of yours,” I remind him. “So: How. Is. The. Car?” I repeat.

“Ha!” He says, ignoring the question again, pouring a finger into the glass he’d placed in the sink earlier. “In your condition, you never would have reached me! You were pretty protective of Boy Wonder, though. Must be true love.” He mocks in a high voice, batting his eyelashes. 

“Fuck that.” I mutter. Very quietly. I don’t want any more scoffs or eye rolls from the kid at the moment. Justin wanders back over with half of a hoagie in his fist. "Plate, Justin! Jesus- I don’t need Italian dressing all over my floor." He scoffs and rolls his eyes but goes to the cabinet and retrieves a plate. O for 2 I guess.

Justin returns and turns to Mikey. "Tho, whath the fuck’th goin’on?" He asks, mouth full. Fucking Cricket Country Club upbringing. Worth shit. Usually. I can’t help but let out a little laugh.

Neither seems to hear me and Michael sighs. "Fuck. Fuck if I know."

"Join the club," I say. "Why didn’t you bring Hunter home after finding out about his mom being dead? And why haven’t you talked to your mom or Horvath? Debbie’s going out of her fucking mind, Mikey. You should talk to her."

"I have talked to her. Just not... just not about Hunter or our whereabouts. And not recently." He rakes his fingers through his hair. "Brian, all I know is that Hunter is very suspicious of the cops- and not just because of the thing with his mom. He knows something that he’s not letting on, and all I can do is trust him that we should keep hiding."

"It’s possible he knows about Kemp. Or, well, let me back up. We got a bunch of letters from Horvath that he picked up at Reikert’s after finding him dead in the garage. Reikert and Hunter’s dad were a couple, for awhile anyway; Reikert also had a regular thing on the side with that Kemp kid."

Mikey just looks at me, surprised. "Why didn’t Hunter tell me about all of that?"

"There’s more." I stretch out my legs, wincing slightly. I take a pull from my glass. Do you know how tired I am of recounting all this shit? Christ, I’m exhausted. I sigh. "Okay. Apparently, Stockwell found out about Reikert being gay, and semi-forced him to resign- just to get him out of the public eye, since he had been Stockwell’s partner for so many years. I suppose it would have reflected poorly on Stockwell’s fucking family-friendly-based mayoral campaign for him to have had a flaming fag for a partner. Reikert seemingly resigned without a fuss, agreeing to lay low. Then there’s a letter from Reikert to Hunter’s dad about how he suspected that Stockwell had the Kemp kid killed- because Kemp had started blackmailing Stockwell. All I can think of that he’d be blackmailing him with was threatening to go pubic about Stockwell having an ex-partner on the force who was regular fuck buddies with a 15 year old boy prostitute from the Vaseline towers. An ex-partner who was at the same time also with a ‘significant other’-" God, I hate that term, "-Hunter’s dad. The fact that his own partner on the force was fucking a boy prostitute and Stockwell did nothing to stop it- either because he was ignorant of it (but shouldn’t have been) or because he turned a blind eye– it’s pretty damaging information. Well, at least Stockwell thought so, if it’s true that he had Jason offed after being blackmailed." I pause. Mikey and Justin are both staring at me intently. I feel like a fucking storyteller with no taste in stories. Plus, this particular story is so twisted and bizarre, it gives me a headache.

"So, anyway, Reikert wrote that letter to Gary- that’s Hunter’s dad- about how he might be in danger, too- because Jason’s best friend, who was Gary’s kid, was likely in on the blackmailing- that his best friend was going to get a cut of whatever Stockwell forked over to keep the boy quiet." I look at Mikey. He doesn’t seem to be registering what I’m saying. "Mikey, Jason’s best friend was Hunter." I study his face to gauge his reaction. Predictably, his mouth has dropped open, but he stays quiet. I’m starting to feel the Beam. Thank God. I take another sip before continuing. "So, whether Reikert started to blackmail Stockwell and got killed, too, or if he in fact did commit suicide- or if someone else altogether is responsible for his death- we don’t fucking know. I’m not even certain Stockwell had Kemp killed. In the letters, it sounds like Gary had a hot temper- conceivably he could have killed Kemp in a jealous rage. But then why later on kill Reikert?" I scratch my head. "None of it makes sense to me. None of the scenarios I can figure out given what little we know seem very likely. But Horvath believes Hunter’s in danger. Of Stockwell. He wants our help to find evidence to nail Stockwell." I pause. "Hunter’s not saying much." Then I add, “Even before the wreck he wasn’t talking.”

"Except," Justin says, "we know Hunter knew Reikert fairly well and didn’t let on- and he fucked him and gave us the ‘evidence’ we used to defeat Stockwell." 

We’re quiet a moment. 

"Oh," Justin adds, seeming to have remembered something else, "and we did find out that Horvath apparently dated Rita for awhile."

"No shit!" 

"There’s a photo that was taken at a police picnic- they’re sitting together on a blanket. Hunter said he’s sure it’s his mom in the photo; and we’re sure it’s Horvath."

"He must really like redheads," I mumble. 

"Why didn’t Hunter say he already knew Reikert? And why didn’t Horvath say something about Rita? Why didn’t he tell me he knew her? And intimately?" Mikey looks from me to Justin. I shrug. "No wonder," he mutters. "He seemed awfully quiet and weird when he told me about her accident."

Justin, having finished his sandwich, gets up and goes to the kitchen, placing the plate in the sink.

"Dishwasher, Justin.” I say, adding a muttered, “Jesus," under my breath. He can be such a slob. I can’t believe I agreed to let him move back in. He was much better off at Daphne’s. He sticks out his tongue, but picks up the plate and puts it in the washer. I suddenly realize my mood’s gone from fucked to Total Shit. Oh well. They can suffer; they both have before. I glance at Mikey. He’s shaking his head in shock. 

"Mikey? You okay, there?"

"Yeah. It’s just a lot to digest." He looks at me. "Do you think Horvath wanted us to come back so he could get Hunter back to his mother? Do you think he’s trustworthy?"

"Fuck if I know." I’ve had enough for tonight. "Probably he is. But right now, the only thing I do know is that I’m fucking goddamned exhausted, confused, and stiff. And in pain." And I feel dizzy. I guess Beam and head wounds don’t go together so well. 

“And in a mood.” Justin snaps. Although I notice he looks a little concerned.

I ignore him. I hear my joints crack as I uncross my ankles and stand up. "It’s fucking late. Let’s get some sleep. Mikey, I have no sofa for you to sleep on- and while my bed is big, it’s not big enough for three-"

"–Not for sleeping, anyway," Justin interrupts, grinning. Fucker. Everyone’s a comedian. But, he’s right, actually.

"Anyway," I continue after tossing a sneer Justin’s way, "I do have an airbed." I limp into the bedroom and painfully reach in to the back of my closet and pull out the deflated bed. I throw it at Michael with my good hand. He barely catches it. Then I get some sheets and a comforter and toss them at him too. 

"Make your fucking bed and get some sleep. Tomorrow, you can go to Mamaroneck to see Hunter; I think Justin and I will first go to Gary’s to see if he’s there." Out of the corner of my eye I see Justin wince slightly. Fucking Ian. 

I yawn, then feel a small smile on my lips. "...And then I sort of feel like seeing Gus." I add. Justin smiles. 

Good.

I turn to Mikey, suddenly remembering. “Hey, what about my car?” I’m suspicious. He’s been ignoring that question all night. It’ll be nice to have my car back, at least. Take Gus and Justin for a spin. Or leave them all behind and drive to fucking Canada to get away from this mess.

Yeah. Like I can fucking drive.

“Jesus, Brian. It’s fine. It’s downstairs in the garage. No dings, dents or smudges of dirt. Good as new. You’ll approve.” Good. I watch Michael as he wanders around the living room. "I wish I could see Ben," he says quietly, his eyes casting about in search of an outlet to plug in the air pump. He looks so sad, so worried, so tired. I hobble up behind him and pull him into a hug.

"You will, tomorrow, Mikey." I gently turn him around to face me and pull his head to rest on my shoulder, my fingers in his hair. I feel badly for him. "You can take the car- I’ll borrow one of the munchers’.” He leans into me and I can feel him grip my shoulders and shudder. He’s been through the fucking wringer, I think to myself. “You know that I love you- always have, always will," I whisper. I’m startled when I hear a loud thwack from the bedroom. Justin ‘dropped’ his shoe on the floor, pointedly. Jesus. He looks over at me, a slightly resentful look clouding his features. Then he shrugs like he knows this isn’t the time.

Still, I find myself thinking, ‘Well, Sunshine, Mikey’s different. I can say it to Mikey. I can’t seem to muster up the courage to say it to you. You terrify me.’ 

Michael is clinging to me still- either he didn’t hear Justin’s nonverbal protest or he’s ignoring him. I’m suspecting it’s the latter, although he is crying pretty hard- I can feel the moisture seeping into my robe. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking how I wish the petty weird rivalry between these two would fucking end. While it’s certainly diminished since they decided to work on the next Rage, I still sense it’s there and it’s really starting to piss me off. Slowly, I release Mikey, cupping his chin to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. I look into his teary eyes until he looks back giving a small smile. "Good. Now go to fucking bed. I should be tossing you out into the cold instead of putting you up for the night, you know that? You nearly scared the life out of me before. Fucker!"

I turn, grabbing the crutches that are leaning against the kitchen counter and head into the bedroom and I hear his voice, very quiet, “Brian?”

I turn, eyebrows raised.

“Thanks.”

”Just bring the car back in one piece,” I say. Shmaltz. I hate shmaltz. Plus, I just doled out about a year’s worth, for me. And he knows it and grins through his tears.

“Who says I’m bringing it back? It’s as good as new right now- I think I’ll sell it, take Ben and Hunter to Tahiti and wash my hands of this fucking mess!”

“You fucking do that and I’ll hunt you down myself and murder your sorry ass!” I hiss. “Justin’ll help me, too, right Sunshine?” I call into the bedroom. “We’re becoming pretty good detectives, you know!”

“Oh yeah? Then who the fuck is the murderer?” Mikey grins.

Ass.

I swing out a crutch like I’m going to hit him, then lower it slowly. “You’re fucking lucky I’m a cripple, asshole.” Mikey just smiles. 

At least he’s smiling, I think. I lurch myself into the bedroom.

Justin looks at me, still with a slightly hurt expression, sitting on his side of the bed with only his tightie whities on. God, Sunshine: not now. Not at this hour. Just don’t. It’s odd to me. The tricks don’t seem to bug him anymore. Well, maybe that’s because I haven’t been tricking. But sometimes I sense that he’s still hung up on this “I love you” thing. 

I sigh. The orange neons over the bed backlight his beautiful hair, and despite myself, I want to fuck him right there, Mikey or no Mikey, crummy mood or no crummy mood. Pain or no pain. As best I can, I pull him up off the bed and give him a hug, letting the crutches fall onto the bed behind him. I kiss his hair, inhaling the scent as I run my good hand in circles across his back. He resists at first, but then relents and hugs back. Gawd, but he’s sexy. I pull back a little and put my lips next to his ear. “Justin,” I whisper. I can feel him tense slightly- he’s probably thinking I’m going to say ‘I love you’ or some such shmaltz. Instead, I kiss him and pause, breathing softly into his ear. Then I whisper, "Gotcha!"

I can be such a prick, I know it. Heheh. He pushes me away gently, although he gives my stomach a bit too hard of a shove as I feel the wind knock out of me with a whoosh. 

"Fucker!" He says. I’m laughing. I happen to know this is actually the way to get him to lighten up.

I reach for him but he ducks. “Aw, c’mon- be fair! I’m disabled! I’m handicapped! I’m physically challenged! I’m whatever the fuck PC term is this week!” I plead. He’s started laughing too, despite himself. I know he’d rather be pissed as hell at me right now. Ah, the Kinney charm, I think to myself. Gawd, Kinney, you ARE an ass.

"No, you’re mean! Asshole!" I can see he’s going to back up then turn and sprint into the bathroom. Yeah, dumbass. Like I can give chase in this condition, I think wryly to myself.

Instead: “Mean? Me?” I bat my eyelashes innocently. 

“Yes!” 

I sigh, suddenly weak, and relent. I gingerly walk over to my side of the bed and sit on the edge. “C’mere.” I say seriously. Sensing my change in mood, he sits down beside me. His eyes quickly shift from smiling to pensive. I reach up and cup his beautiful face in my hand and look into his eyes, lose myself in them for a very long moment. “Thank you.” Is all I say. 

Out loud, anyway. And I mean it. For everything. 

He looks at me quizzically for a moment; kind of oddly, actually, like he’s reading me. Then, to my relief, he breaks out into one of his megawatt trademark smiles. “You’re welcome.” He says softly, leaning in to brush his lips against mine. “And…” He adds, thoughtfully, “thank you. Brian.”

I look at the pillows longingly. I ache all over.

Okay, now. “Bed.”

“Definitely!”


	21. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

It’s late when I wake up. I shake my head, vaguely remembering a dream I’d been having. A good dream. All I remember is the very distinctive look of Brian’s eyes, saying to me what he may never say with his mouth. With words, I mean. I have a hard-on like hell and I feel good for the first morning in days. 

Then I remember. He gave me that look – really intensely- just last night. I stretch soundly, happily.

Brian is next to me, still sleeping. His hurt leg uncovered, the blanket kicked off somehow. I smile, then peer at the bandage. It doesn’t look like he bled any more into the fresh dressing I’d put on the night before. 

“Brian?” I whisper. 

He shivers, his eyes open immediately and then he squints in pain. “Ow. Fuck me!” He says hoarsely. 

“Brian, I’m sorry- I just want to check the wound.” I whisper.

“WoundS.” Brian corrects, looking down at his thigh. 

“WoundS.” I concede. “The doc said to change the dressing- er, dressingS- at least three times a day.”

Brian just nods, blanching slightly, and then rolls gingerly, very slightly towards me. “Fucking ow.” He mutters.

I get off the bed and go into the bathroom to get the stuff. Coming back, I see he’s sitting up, rubbing his head. 

Out of the blue: “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.” He says quietly, making me pause.

Uh huh. 

“Oh no? And who else will?” I note, sardonically. “Besides, I like it. Practice for when you’re 80 and I’m a fucking young 68-year-old whippersnapper.” I add, grinning. 

He just eyes me sarcastically. “I’m killing myself at 39.” He says, all matter-of-fact. “If I don’t this afternoon... This fucking hurts!” He adds, shifting uncomfortably.

“No, you’re not.” I say decidedly, pulling back the tape gently. “No, you’re not.” I say again. And he’s fucking not. I flash to the hospital and involuntarily, I shiver a little- but I don’t think he notices, he seems to be aching so badly. 

“Like you have any say…” He mutters.

“Shut up, Brian.” Looking at the wound, it’s not as bad as last night. I rub on some of the ointment and prepare a fresh dressing. 

“Is Mikey still here?” He suddenly whispers. Fuck. I’d forgotten. Remembering Michael is possibly in the next room is an instant turn-off.

“I don’t know.” I stand up and move closer to the stairs. “I think so,” I add, lowering my voice. 

“Well, let’s shower.” He says. “You stink.” 

I roll my eyes. “Can we please just lose that line?” 

He looks at me thoughtfully a moment. Then all he says is: “Gladly.” And he means it. I grin. 

We maneuver a shower, his arm wrapped in a plastic bag, his leg bandage covered. I carefully keep his leg as far away from the spray as possible as I soap him down. “You know, Sunshine,” he winks, “from that angle…”

I’m on my knees, soaping him up. I look up and grin. “You up for it?” I ask, unnecessarily- his hard-on is staring me in the face. So to speak. I lick my lips.

“Don’t I look up for it?” He grins wickedly. 

I stand up, taking the showerhead to rinse him off. “Out.” I command, steering him out of the stall and grabbing a towel. I don’t want to suck him off with him having to stand the whole time. I dry him off, inspecting the bandages. They’re pretty dry, I note with satisfaction. “Bed.” I say, covering him with his robe before handing him the crutches. He leers at me. 

“Yes, Mr. Nightingale.” He whispers.

Heheh. I’m fucking hard as a rock, my dick fucking bobbing around. I dry myself off quickly.

Once in bed, he stretches out slowly. 

Then: shit. I remind myself: Michael is here. I’d forgotten again. What is up with that? I suddenly have second thoughts. Well, my brain does. My body’s now a different story. I start to hope fervently that Michael’s a sound sleeper.

“Brian- we have to be quiet,” I remind him, pulling up the duvet. 

He just waves me off. “Mikey’s heard me cum a million times.”

”But not me. And I’m fucking shyer than you are.” Which, believe it or not, is true. When outside the confines of Brian’s loft, or his company. Well, usually anyway. Okay, well, when it comes to Brian’s best friend, I am… when it comes to Michael. 

“Justin! Come on! It’ll be a challenge!” Brian says, low.

“Don’t you two even think about it!” We both jump at the sound of Michael’s voice in the next room. He must have awakened while we were in the shower. I feel my cock soften immediately.

“Dammit.” Brian hisses under his breath. He kisses me on the cheek lightly. “Rain check?” He whispers.

“Yeah.” I say quietly; I’m both disappointed- and, actually, somewhat relieved. I wouldn’t have been able to resist for long. And I’m anything but quiet… And. Ugh. I suddenly think back to the ardent look of lust Michael was giving Brian when he was naked in the kitchen last night before I changed his bandages. It didn’t surprise me in the least- I mean, Ben or no Ben, Michael still has ‘a thing’ going for Brian. But it appeared to me that Brian was oblivious. He seemed to be under the impression that Michael was disgusted by the sight of him in that state. Although, he didn’t seem to care- except he felt self-conscious- which is very unusual for Brian. 

Brian gives me a kiss, soft and full. “Mikey, shouldn’t you be hitting the road about now?” Brian calls, as he gingerly moves his legs so his feet are touching the floor. He’s moving like he’s about 90 fucking years old he’s so stiff, and I’m a little worried.

“Maybe we should just skip Gary’s.” I say quietly.

“No. And I want to see Gus.” He insists. Michael apparently didn’t hear Brian’s question, because we suddenly hear him call from the other room that he’s leaving for the hospital.

Brian doesn’t respond to Michael, but turns to me slightly. “We’re going.” He says, decidedly. And the front door slides closed with a rumble. And Michael is gone. Brian starts to get up and then seems to reconsider; he lowers himself down again and twists around towards me full on. And he has his extra-wicked grin on his face. “How ‘bout that rain check?” He leers. And my cock fucking springs to attention and I grin back at him.

“Eh, I dunno. Not in the mood.” I am such a fucking tease. And I can tell you right here and now: I’m a lousy one.

He swings his legs back onto the bed, biting back a decided wince. So I know it’ll have to be something… gentle. For us, anyway. He looks at me pointedly. “Not in the mood? Huh.” He gently lowers the duvet and I try to keep my eyes on his – which, normally, would be easy; I love gazing into his eyes… but I also love to look at his cock- and right now, I’m hornier than fuck- and as he reveals it, I’m drawn to its gorgeous glory and I find myself licking my lips. ‘Its gorgeous glory’… did I just say that? I must be UNBELIEVABLY horny if I’m waxing THAT poetic… I mean, Brian has a beautiful cock. But I sound like I’m talking about the fucking American flag, for chrissakes.

Still, while I know we’re both about to fucking explode, I try nobly to keep up the tease and I force my eyes upwards to his face. “Nah. Not really.” I say, all blasé - but my voice cracks on the word ‘not’, so while I inwardly know I’m already busted- now I’m REALLY busted.

“Uh huh.” He says- dammit, he’s playing along. We do this to each other periodically— but not after several days worth of build-up. Why’d I start this? “Okay then.” He begins to turn around and he swings his legs back so his feet are on the floor again. Fuck. I swear, the guy would clean up if he played poker. He has called my bluff more times than I care to remember. I roll my eyes. 

“Right. Okay, then…” I say, somewhat hesitantly. I’m not backing down. Heh. I’m NOT. “Brian?” 

He turns to face me, one eyebrow cocked and a full-fledged smirk curling his lips. “Yes, Justin?” He asks in his sweetest tone. Ass. 

“Brian…!” Fuck. Rats. I think I’m pouting. Yes, I’m definitely pouting.

“What, Justin?” I want to wipe that fucking smirk off of his face. Either with a smack. Or with a kiss. Sigh. The latter’s much more fun. I pull him back onto the bed and kiss him. He kisses back in earnest and I decide it’s a draw. He leans over me, gingerly shifting his leg so it’s not uncomfortable and now I’m just lost. All I feel is his mouth, lips, tongue, his fingers are in my hair, his cock is hard against my own; I shift and the friction makes us both moan. “Fuck, Justin!” He gasps. 

“I know- I’m about to fucking cum and we’ve hardly…” I don’t finish as he catches my lips in a furious kiss. We’re both breathing so fucking heavily, moaning, I only vaguely hear the front door slide open.

“What the—!?“ Brian gasps, slightly turning his head from mine.

“BRIAN?” Michael. Jesus H.

“Fuck it!” Brian hisses. “WHAT?” He yells. “I’m fucking busy! Haven’t you learned not to fucking barge in after last night? Jesus!” He hasn’t moved his face far away from mine and I can feel his hot breath as he barks at Michael. I notice his cheeks are getting flushed- he’s seriously pissed! And. And… well, and I can’t help it but I start to giggle. He turns his focus on me and clenches his jaw. “Shut up!” He whispers. I reach a hand up and cover my mouth, barely stifling a snort. 

“Sorry, Brian- I just forgot the driving direc—“

“Jesus! It’s okay Mikey- Just get them and get out!” Now, I’m fucking losing it. And it’s also now that I decide that I actually won our little game. Brian’s fucking pissed- he wouldn’t have taken “nah” for an answer. Ha!

“Sorry!” With that, we hear the door slide shut and I burst out laughing.

Brian leans back on his elbow and regards me critically. After a moment- after I calm down a little- he opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, raising a finger like he’s about to start a diatribe- or an indignant hissy fit. But nothing comes out. I start laughing full on again- I can’t fucking help it; I don’t know why, but… 

He inhales again like he’s going to say something, finger still raised, still staring at me like he's pissed- or trying to be. And then his gaze falls to something behind my head, like he’s reflecting on what he’s doing…. And he fucking bursts out laughing too. Which starts me going harder and pretty soon we’re both lost in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder when it is that we started doing this kind of thing- giggling like fucking schoolgirls. But then I think… who fucking cares?

“Fucking Michael!” I finally say, practically choking. “Fuck, Brian- you were pissed!”

He coughs a little, recovering. “Oh, yeah… and yeah, like you were really ‘not in the mood’.”

I lean over and kiss him deeply. Okay, it’s a draw again. And suddenly, I have no urge to giggle at all as I feel Brian’s tongue explore my mouth. “Bri… Brian?” I gasp. 

He pulls back slightly to look at me quizzically. 

“Do you think you can manage….” One look, one leer from him and I know he can. And will. It’s been awhile since we’ve done it this way- ‘cause I’m always so eager for him to fuck me. But not this morning, given the circumstances. I maneuver myself over him, kissing my way down his torso towards my goal: his engorged cock- in its, yes, its gorgeous glory; I feel him kiss my belly and then I gasp as he engulfs me entirely– I pause momentarily, unable to concentrate as the sensations flood my system. Then I open my eyes slightly, and his beautiful dick is right there, the pre-cum slick on the tip and on his belly and I can’t help but fucking slurp him up, swallowing the sweet creamy flavor that is uniquely Brian. I feel his heat, taste him, feel the pulsing of my own cock in Brian’s mouth- and in moments it’s over in an explosion of colors and stars and white light as I swallow his cum greedily as he comes with me.

It’s all I can do to not simply flop down on top of Brian where I am- but of course I can’t or I’d hurt him. Panting, sweating, sated and feeling like a Raggedy Andy doll, I roll to my side beside him, kiss his hip and smile. “Fuck me…” I sigh. “That was too fast.”

“Can’t fuck you yet. And it was long overdue.” Brian yawns.

I smile. As my breathing slowly returns to normal I shift around and move up to face him for a kiss. He’s smiling slightly, eyes half-mast. “Let’s skip Gary’s and just stay in bed all day. Didn’t the doc say you should get lots of rest?”

“What you have in mind isn’t rest, deeeeear.” Brian smirks. “Besides, seriously, I really do want to see Gus. If you don’t want to go, I can see if Linds will take me…”

“No, that’s cool. I just…” We just saw Gus, I think to myself. And as much as I adore him, I’m wondering-- “Why the sudden—“ Then I realize. And I shudder. “Oh.” Fuck. Realizing how close he came to getting killed a few days ago, some quality time with Gus may be- well, may actually be BETTER than what the doctor ordered.


	22. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

Brian drifts off to sleep, which is probably good for him so I leave him alone to get some rest and I go dink around on the computer for awhile. After about an hour, I hear him shifting in bed and I climb the stairs to see him twitching restlessly in his sleep before his eyes suddenly open and his teeth clench. He did that a lot in the hospital; it’s obvious that he’s hurting. “Fuck me! Jesus.” He mutters, rubbing his head. Then he notices me and smiles weakly. “Ugh. I feel like shit.” He mumbles. 

“You look a little green in the gills.” He just rolls his eyes and sits up.

“Fuck!” He says, looking at the clock. “It’s already 11? Fuck!” 

“I thought you could use the rest.”

He grumbles something I can’t hear and shifts over to the edge of the bed. “You mind making something to eat? I’m going to lope around here and try to dress my fucking broken self.” Brian stands up, grimacing. 

I can sense his previously somewhat chipper mood has disappeared. I eye him warily, but I know he won’t accept my help. “’Kay.” I say. “What do you want?” I call behind me as I go into the kitchen. There’s a crash. I swing around.

“Fuck! Damn crutches!” He’s leaning down. One had fallen and knocked an ashtray off the nightstand.

”You okay?”

“As okay as I can be, I guess…” He mutters.

“How about eggs?”

”Mmrrph…” He mumbles, straightening up and tossing the ashtray onto the nightstand with a clatter. “Just toast.”

“Brian, you have to eat more than that.”

“Fuck off. You’re not my mother. Toast.” He snaps, limping to the dresser. 

“Fine.” I mutter, opening the breadbox and yanking out a loaf of bread. He is the crankiest sick person in the fucking world, I swear it.

As I pop the toast into the toaster, I glance over to see his progress. He’s pulling on a wife-beater, but the fabric is stuck on his cast. “FUCK!” He yells, flailing as best he can to get his cast through the opening. The cast goes all the way to his fucking shoulder- it’s not an easy task.

I sigh and go into the bedroom. “Jesus, Brian, you’re—“

“A fucking cripple. I know. Justin, just help me get this thing on.” He grumbles in defeat. 

“No, not a ‘fucking cripple’, Brian. A total ass.” I reach over and gingerly pull it through the armhole. 

“Thanks.” He says quietly. “Fucking cast.” He lumbers over to the dresser and gets out some sweats. “God, I really hate wearing this shit. I feel like a slob.” Then he pauses, thoughtful a moment before sitting on the bed. “I wonder if this is how Ted feels.” He carefully pulls the sweats on and gets up, spreading his arms towards me to display his new look. 

Actually, he looks pretty hot. I can see his muscles through the tight wife-beater and I smack my lips. “You look mahhvelous.” I say. “Come on. Let’s eat.” I hand him the crutches and head into the kitchen. I’m buttering the toast as he wobbles up to the counter, pulling out a stool. 

“Not so much butter, Justin!” 

Jesus. “What the fuck is with you?” I say, annoyed.

He grunts and takes a bite of toast. Then he’s quiet. After a few minutes, he takes a sip of coffee. Then he snorts, “So. What you’ll be driving, today, I have no idea.” 

Oh yeah. 

No car. 

“I’ll call Lindsay.” I say.

“Woo hoo- we’re probably going from a Skylark to… another Skylark.”

I ignore him and pull out Brian’s cell from his jacket on the counter. I resign myself to the fact that he’ll be ticked off with either car. Skylark. Or Cavalier. A 1986 Cavalier. I sigh and hit speed dial.


	23. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

God, I fucking ache. And I know I’m being extra shitty right now, but fuck it. I feel like a goddamned 90-year-old. I can’t even go over to the door to get the fucking paper. Luckily, I see Mikey brought it in and put it on the counter before he left. 

“Okay,” Justin flips the phone closed. “Lindsay says Mel has the Skylark so she’ll bring over the Cavalier if we’ll drop her off at Mel’s work. They have a lunch date.”

“Ooooo. The Cavalier. Oh so much better than the Skylark.” I mumble. “I have to get a classier set of friends. And mother of my child.” Justin just smirks and tosses the cell on the counter.

“So, are we taking the letters and shit to Gary’s, or are we just showing up?”

“Let’s take them. After all,” I chuckle, “he hasn’t seen all of them.”

Justin takes my empty plate and starts to put it in the sink, but before I can say anything he turns to the dishwasher. I smile to myself. 

“So. You about ready?” He asks.

“Well, we kind of have to wait till Lindsay shows up.”

He suddenly pushes a couple pills under my nose and pours more coffee into my mug. “No. I mean: Take.”

“I fucking hate these things,” I mutter, grabbing the pills and popping them in my mouth. “They make me so looped.”

“Yeah. I remember. Me too.” He says, looking closely at the bottle.

I wince and almost spit out my coffee. “Don’t go there, Justin.” The pills just happen to be the kind Justin was given after the bashing. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice. I wish I’d put them in the bathroom cabinet with all the other meds I’ve gotten and not finished over the years.

“Brian, we never really talk about that…”

I know. I know. I know. Frankly, I don’t even want to think about it. This is not helping my mood, goddammit. “I didn’t know you wanted to… And we did talk about it- a lot, for awhile after it happened.” I look over at him; he’s pretending to be busy wiping down the counter. What the fuck brought this on, anyway? Just the fucking pills? “Justin, this isn’t the fucking diner. Put that rag down.” He looks at me and sighs, then tosses the rag into the sink. “Justin, what’s going on? Have you remembered more? I mean, if you want to talk about… something… you know, it… you… you can.” 

I have fucking relived that whole deal so many times and the last thing I want to do is let those memories have free reign again. But, if he’s remembered something, maybe he needs to talk. Gee, I’m being awfully magnanimous for me, even though I really don’t want to be. Christ, the headache that had started to dissipate is back full on, despite the pills. 

He bites his lip, seeming to size me up. “No, that’s okay.”

“Fuck that, Justin. Fuck this noble front you’re putting on. I’m not in the mood. What’s going on?”

He just looks at me. Suddenly he reaches for my hands and holds them- grasping just the fingers on my casted arm. “Sorry. Really, Brian. We can talk about it later.”

I look at him skeptically. “Talk. Now.”

“I just kind of… After the car wreck, I just kind of got a taste of what maybe… what maybe you had gone through after… afterwards… And also, well, even though I slept maybe 2 fucking minutes the whole time we were in the hospital up there- I had the most vivid and terrible nightmares…” He pauses. “AND the most vivid and incredible… God, they were almost wet dreams. Some WERE.” He adds, smiling a little. He pauses again, collecting himself. “From the night of the prom.” He looks at me briefly. “And I don’t know if they are, er, were, based on my own memories, or on what you and Daph have told me about that night. But I think I remember now. They’re too vivid to be based on what you two have told me. At least, I think.”

I’m staring at him. I can’t speak. I feel a sudden wooziness as the import of what he’s saying sinks in. He remembers the whole night? Not just the fucking bat to his skull?

Or maybe I’m getting woozy because of the meds. 

It’s just the meds. I shake my head. I choose to decide that it’s the meds.

“Brian?” He looks suddenly worried.

I gather my wits as best I can. “I’m fine- the pills are just starting to kick in, is all.”

“You sure?”

‘Yes, I’m fucking sure!’ I want to scream. But I just nod, breaking our grip to take another sip of coffee. 

And, Jesus, my hand is shaking. As I quickly put the cup down, I glance up and see that he notices. Dammit.

“Brian…” His jaw is clenched and it looks like he’s trying not to cry. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean—“

Just then, the buzzer goes off. Fucking saved by the bell. Er, buzzer, whatever. I make a mental note to take Lindsay to lunch soon. While I know Justin and I will have to talk about this, I just don’t feel… strong enough at the moment.

“Can you get that?” I manage. He looks at me. 

“Fuck.” Is all he says. But he gets up and goes to let her in.


	24. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: LINDSAY

As the door slides open, I sense something’s off. Brian’s at the counter sipping his coffee, seemingly shaken and looking off into space. And Justin looks like he just heard his dog died. 

“Hi, guys…” I say tentatively. “What’s up?” As soon as Gus sees Brian, he leans over, arms outstretched. “Daddee!!!” I hoist him higher on my hip. “Gus, shh…”

Brian blinks and looks over. “Hey, Sonny Boy! You can put him down, Linds. The floor’s clean.” He pauses a split second. “For the moment, anyway.”

It occurs to me just how much Brian sacrificed to defeat Stockwell. And, well. Throw in the cleaning service, I think to myself.

I lower Gus to the floor and he wobbles over to Brian. “You walk a little like me,” he comments. “Only better.” He reaches out to cup the boy’s chin and leans down to give him a kiss. “Can’t pick you up though. Gotta heal first.”

”Up! Up!” Gus insists, clawing at Brian’s legs. Brian carefully maneuvers so that Gus can’t reach where he was hurt.

“Sorry, kid. But Justin’ll pick you up.” Justin glances over and seems to be biting back some sort of emotion. But he walks over and picks Gus up and puts him on his shoulders, straddling his neck. Gus giggles in rapture at his vantage point and claps his hands. 

“Jusssin!” He squeals.

“That’s me!” He says, smiling, gripping both of the toddler’s hands and walking around to face Brian and I. 

Still, Justin is simply not happy about something.

“Did I come at a bad time?” I ask in a low voice as Gus continues giggling and babbling.

Brian is rubbing his temples like he does when he’s got one of his headaches. “No. It’s fine. We just had a long night. As you know, Mikey showed up.”

Uh huh. Justin had told me on the phone that Michael had finally appeared. Justin had sounded fine then. “Yeah. But that’s good news, isn’t it?”

Brian pauses and glances at me. ”Yeah.” He says simply, not responding to the implicit question of ‘so why the fucking tension?’

After a moment of silence, interrupted only by Gus’ incessant chatter, I decide I’m not going to learn much of anything right now.

“Okay, well…” I pause. “Shall we go?”

“You want some coffee first?” Brian asks. I glance at him. Is he stalling for some reason? I see Justin give Brian a look. I can’t read it.

“Oh. Um, yeah, sure. Only like a half cup or so, though,” I say, tossing the baby bag by the counter and my purse on a stool. 

“Gus, honey, grab my head.” Justin says as he walks behind the counter towards the coffeemaker. Gus complies, giggling with the walking motion. He nearly covers Justin’s eyes and when Justin turns around to hand me a cup, Brian laughs. Justin’s longish hair is all in his eyes, gripped there by two chubby little hands. I snicker too.

“See okay in there?” Brian asks. At that moment, the tension magically dissipates and Justin breaks out into a smile. 

“Well, actually…” He says, hesitantly. 

After I accept the mug, he reaches up to lift Gus’ hands from his face. But Gus has a firm grip on his hair. Brian’s still chuckling. 

“Um, Gus…?” Justin says. Gus sees Brian laughing lightly and has started squealing with delight, not hearing Justin at all. “Gus?”

I reach over to help out. “Gus, lambskin- honey, let go of Justin’s hair,” I coax. His eyes on Brian, he’s oblivious and has started an all-out laughing fit and gives Justin’s hair a sudden hard yank in his glee. 

“OUCH!” Justin complains. Brian’s full on laughing now. “Shut up, Brian! You’re not helping!” He grumbles- but he’s smiling. “I’d really rather you didn’t share a special father - son moment at my expense, you know…” 

I quickly reach up and lift Gus off of Justin’s shoulders, Justin simultaneously prying his fists open to release his hair. I put Gus on the floor and he shrieks with laughter, crawling rapidly around the counter towards his father. He still crawls when he’s in a hurry. And he’s definitely in a hurry. He stands up unsteadily and leans against Brian. “Up! Up!” 

Brian, chuckling, catches him in his right arm and lifts him onto his good leg. “You win, Sonny Boy! Up it is. Just be careful, ‘kay?” Gus seems to understand, quits squirming and simply plants a slobbery kiss on his Dad’s face. I lean over and wipe off the spit since Brian’s good arm is busy keeping Gus on his lap. “Thanks, Linds.” 

Justin is raking his fingers through his hair, trying to un-muss it or re-muss it, I don’t know what. Then he looks affectionately at Brian and Gus. “Geez, boy, you have a grip to ya!” He says. 

Brian gives him a look. “Which Kinney you talkin’ to?” 

“Gus,” he says, exaggerating, “YOU have quite a grip. I’ve practically got two bald spots now!” 

“Ball spots!” Gus mimics, giggling.

Brian cocks an eyebrow. “I love ball spots.” He smirks. I just roll my eyes. Justin laughs.

“Okay. So…” I kinda want to say, ‘whatever the fuck was going on before I got here is over now, so let’s go!’ But- I decide against it; “Let’s go! I have a date with Mel.”

Brian makes a face. “Smelly Melly. Ugh.” He grabs his jacket and the cell phone from the counter.

I ignore him.

“She made it past her first trimester.” I say proudly, handing Justin my keys. 

“We know, we know. Gawd, I still can’t believe Mikey’s sperm and Smelly Melly’s egg…” he just shudders, saying no more. 

I frown at him. “I know you and Mel have your problems, but the baby will be your son’s sibling!” Ass.

“Although, thankfully, unrelated to him.” He’s standing now, still holding Gus. He gives the child a kiss on his forehead. 

“Daddeee!” Gus says happily. 

“It’ll probably be a girl.” He snorts.

“And what is wrong with girls?” I demand.

“You have to ask?” He says. “You’re probably the only girl I like.”

I soften a little at that, despite myself. “Woman,” I correct, “AND: I frankly LOVE girls. Women. And don’t forget that you like Debbie, too.”

Justin has been watching this little exchange like he was watching a tennis match. “Let’s go.” He says, suddenly. Brian nods and motions for me to take Gus. As I lift him from his father, he starts to protest, clutching and pulling at him.

“What is with him today?” I say out loud. 

“He loves his Dad.” Justin interjects. “Here, Brian, let me…” Then, simply: “Here.” He’s holding out Brian’s jacket for him to put it on. 

“Is it cold out?” He quickly asks me.

”Yeah. It’s about 30 degrees. And be aware that the Cavalier overheats in this weather.”

”Overheats?” Brian says quizzically, agreeably pulling on his coat with Justin’s assistance. “Have you checked if the thermostat needs to be replaced?”

“Yes. They replaced it twice. It’s not the thermostat. They don’t know what the hell it is. But keep an eye on the temp- if it starts climbing, rev the engine hard. They fashioned some kind of fan thing that will help everything cool, and revving it turns it on. And put on the heat, high, using the air conditioning settings.” I say. “More fans.”

“Jesus, Linds. Aren’t you the little Ms. Bandaid…” Brian mutters, grasping the crutches and pulling them under his arms. “And you drove my son over here in that heap?”

“Brian!” Justin admonishes.

“Yes. Because I’m doing you a favor, remember?” I say. Ass.

“Let’s just go.”

We go.


	25. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

“Rev it!” 

Jesus, Lindsay, I think to myself. “How do I rev it and not shoot forward like a bullet?”

”The clutch is pushed in, right, stupid?” Brian’s ever-helpful advice comes from the back. Ass.

But… he’s right. I yank up the handbrake, keeping the clutch engaged, and put my foot to the gas pedal, revving the engine hard. The woman at the stoplight next to me looks over as though I’m challenging her to a drag race. I just smile as sweetly as I can manage and turn my attention to the front. Brian’s watching me from the back and I hear him guffaw.

The light finally changes and we turn onto Church. 

“That’s it, right there!” Linds says, pointing to a Victorian-looking house. “That’s where Mel works.”

I pull up and park, gratefully killing the engine before having to rev it again. 

“Alright, so, what’s the plan, Stan?” Brian says, then pauses. “Heh.” He says suddenly and starts in on the Simon and Garfunkel song… “Just slip out the back, Jack; Make a new plan, Stan; You don’t need to be coy, Roy; Just get yourself free…” Despite how hokey it is, I notice both Lindsay and I have joined him, “Hop on the bus, Gus,” Gus is squealing at that, “You don’t need to discuss muuuuuuch; Just drop off the key, Lee, and get yourself free!”  
We all stop and look at each other and start to laugh. Gus is beside himself in the back with his Dad. Brian then straightens up, watching Gus. 

“Okay, that’s enough of that fucking Hee Haw moment.” He says suddenly- although he is still laughing slightly. And he started it. I don’t remember the meds having this affect on me. But, Gus is laughing so hard he’s having a hard time finding a moment to breathe. A brief expression of concern clouds Brian’s face until the boy inhales a huge gulp of air. 

“Gus! Bus, Gus! Back, Jack!” He shrieks.

Brian laughs a little. “Okay,” he says, turning his attention to Lindsay. “What is the plan, Stan?”

“Well, I can take the bus home- “We all snort at that, although she’s being serious. “But with Gus—“

”Hop on tha buss, GUSS!” Gus squeals.

“No, why don’t we swing back in about…” Brian glances at me. I shrug. “How about in about an hour? Or a little more? Justin has to swing by the diner to pick up a paycheck.”

I what? “No I don’t,” I protest. “I just got my paycheck, remember?”

”Well, then,” Brian says, poking his tongue in his cheek, “we have to go because I want you to buy me lunch…. That okay with you?”

I’m puzzled, and I know Brian would never ask me to buy him anything (it’s both a pet peeve and a thing I have easily gotten used to over the years). 

But I just nod.

“Okay, then. An hour or a little more- we’ll see you. You want to have dinner over tonight?” Linds asks. 

Surprisingly, Brian says a simple “yes,” while looking at Gus, whose face is flushed with having laughed his little ass off after our sing-song. 

Cool.

“I need all the free meals I can get.” Brian adds, pure Kinney style. “We haven’t eaten since that Godforsaken ‘Victory Brunch’. That was, what, Justin? 4 days ago? Or so?”

I shrug. “Will it be just us, or…?”

“You two, us three, and I’ll ask Deb and Vic and Rodney and Emmett, but from what you told me, Michael and Ben and Hunter are… unavailable.”

“Yeah. They’re in Mamaroneck. The crap capital of the world. Land of the Big Q. Although, I had an Aunt who lived there. Died when I was 16. She was an ornery bitch, but she and I had some good times. She loved to fish. Always told me when I caught one that I must’ve been holding my mouth right.” Brian muses.

This is uncharacteristic and, quite frankly, freaking me out. A little. 

“I’ve been holding my mouth right in the backrooms ever since.” He adds, quickly. Grinning.

Uh huh.

Lindsay catches my eye and pushes the door open, then yanks open the rear door. “C’mon Gus, honey.” She says, un-strapping him from his car seat. “Brian, you want to go up front?” She asks as she lifts a now-pouting Gus from his seat. “Daddeee!” He protests.  
Brian just waves her off. “Too much effort.” He says simply. She nods and slams the door. “God, it sucks being a retard.” I hear him whisper. I look around. 

“You aren’t a fucking retard. More like a drama queen.”

He regards me critically. “So, did you bring all that shit? The letters and photos?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Do you know where we’re going?”

Of course I know. And I know he knows that I know. 

“Yeah.”

”Then: onward, McDuff!” His voice sounds tired. I start the car and think, ‘Brian’s sure in a weird mood.’


	26. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

I’m in a weird mood. Fuck if I know what the hell’s going on in my head. Justin’s little revelations this morning, Gus being so silly, Linds…

Eh, fuck it. Must be all the meds. Maybe I should get Anita to get me some of this shit from now on- after the prescription runs out, I mean. 

Justin drives towards Gary’s. 

“What’s the address again?” He asks, acting all innocent.

Not skipping a beat, “1345 E. King Street. Number 5.” 

“Oh. Right.” He says. 

“Justin, you just made a wrong turn.” I say, annoyed. 

The engine suddenly revs. “Oh, sorry.”

Uh huh.

He flips a U turn and we’re finally there. “This it?” He asks.

“Uh huh.” I wait for him to get out and open my door. I grab my crutches. “Ready?”

“Um. Yeah.” He says, helping me up. When I’m standing I look down at him. Jesus, he’s short. 

And beautiful.

“Justin – really do not worry about seeing Ian- er, Ethan.” I say. 

He looks down. “Right.”

“What the fuck is going on?” What, is he still seeing this kid? It’s not like they’re in the same fucking apartment. Or building, for that matter. That I know of.

“Nothing.” He says, hesitantly. 

I just stand there looking at him, watching the clouds from our breaths intermingle. It’s not ‘nothing’. That much, I know.

He looks up at me finally. “It’s just that – well, that’s Ethan’s address.” 

My knees buckle slightly. Thank God for these crutches. “It’s what?”

“You heard me.”

I just gawk at him a moment. “Well, whatever the fuck. Let’s go. It’s fucking cold.” I use my hip to slam the door and warble towards the front door. 

Great, just great. 

Ethan and Gary. What is with these people? Should ‘It’s a Small World After All’ be about glorious gay Pittsburgh? 

And from the looks of it, there are going to be several flights of stairs to negotiate.

“Brian?” I hear from behind me.

“What?” I bark back.

“I… well, I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier.”

“Uh huh.” I don’t want to deal with this right now. “Whatever.”

We get into the foyer. Yep. Stairs. Shitloads of ‘em. “Take this.” I hand Justin one of my crutches and start to use the other to help myself up, balancing myself with the banister.

“Brian, are you sure? I could just go up there and knock on the door.”

Yeah, right. 

“No, I’ll be fine. Just slow.” 

And yes, slow I am. I go up, one step at a time. Justin follows behind me patiently. After what may literally have been 20 minutes, we’re in front of number 5. 

“Well, Sunshine, here we are! Your OTHER home away from home!” 

Yeah, it’s shitty. But deserved. He grimaces.

“Fuck you, Brian.”

Uh huh. Well, here goes. Can hardly wait to see that fucking carpet sample on Ian’s chin again. I knock on the door using my casted elbow. 

Good Lord. It truly stinks in here.

“God, what stinks?” I mutter. It smells like a dirty jock strap. Justin just shifts his weight from one leg to the other and coughs lightly. He’s not a happy camper.

There’s no answer from inside the apartment. 

“Did you two have a secret knock you could try?” I ask. 

“Brian, Jesus. You don’t ‘do jealous’, remember?”

That hits home. “I’m not jealous.” I say. Hopefully, not too quickly. “I’m just hoping we can avoid having to go down all these godforsaken steps before meeting up with Fairy Gary.” I glance at the stairs, grimacing. “And, well…” Eh. Just say it. “Quite possibly, Ethan.” I add.

Justin just rolls his eyes and sighs. “No. No secret knock. Just try again.” I rap on the door again. This time, I hear movement inside.

“Fuck. Fuck!” A voice says. “Wolfram! Move your ass!” I notice Justin slipping behind me just before the door opens. Good grief.

“Fuck…?” Ethan says as he registers it’s me. 

“No,” I correct. “I’m Brian.” 

“Oh, fuck! Er, Brian, I mean.” He backs up like I’m going to slug him. Jesus. “Brian, really- Justin isn’t here – we aren’t…we aren’t together anymore- please, really!” I almost feel sorry for the guy- he looks like he’d eagerly hand over a lung and his fucking kidneys to get rid of me right now.

But, instead, I ignore his little rant. “Hello, Ian.” I say, pleasantly. “Actually, I’m not here to find Justin.” I shrug over slightly to reveal that Justin is right behind me. “I’m here to find Gary Montgomery. He lives here, right?”

The moment that follows is priceless- if you’re a freak like me, that is. Justin looks like he wants to simply throw himself down the stairs rather than confront Ian. Ethan. Whatever. And Ethan looks like he’d prefer to spontaneously combust rather than be here at the moment. The latter, I’d like to see. 

“He… he… Gary?” Ethan manages.

“Uh huh.” This kid is an idiot, I decide. “Yes. Gary. Lives. Here.” I’m beginning to lose my patience. I hear a clatter behind Ethan and look beyond him into the disgusting clutter of his… apartment. God, how did Justin ever live in this dump? “Gary?” I say. I push Ethan aside to walk into the room; Ethan cowers as I pass. One thing going for Ethan and Justin: they’re both about the same height. In Ethan’s case, that makes me pretty intimidating, I would imagine. I choose to think so. “Gair?” I repeat. “Hey, Gary?” Justin hovers around the doorway. Ethan is leaning against the kitchen sink. Or if that’s what it is, underneath that huge pile of dirty dishes.

A man comes out of the bathroom in his boxers, tripping over the cat. “Fuck! Who the fuck are you?” He says, recovering and surveying the scene. 

Nice to meet you, too, Gair.

“I’m Brian. Brian Kinney. This is Justin Taylor,” I wave for Justin to come all the way inside. “Justin is Ethan’s boyfriend.” 

“EX-boyfriend, Brian.” Justin hisses. 

“EX-boyfriend, then.” I stand corrected. 

Gary just stares at me. He’s about 45, average height, has a paunch, too much body hair but hardly any on his head, and, well, he turns my stomach. He looks a lot like my old man at around that age, actually. God, I’m definitely killing myself at 39. 

I consider putting out my hand but his expression makes me think he won’t take it. So I don’t. 

He’s still gawking at me. ‘Does the man speak?’ I begin to wonder. Just before: “Kinney. Kinney.” He seems to be trying to place my name. Uh oh. “Where do I know you from? I’ve heard that name before.” Then he snaps his fingers. “You’re the one who worked on the Stockwell campaign, aren’t you! His token gay staff member! You were his goddamned campaign manager!”

Token my ass. I mean, I worked fucking hard for that damnable campaign. I was the one who fucking made it so that the guy almost won. And he would have won, if I hadn’t developed something Justin calls “my conscience” and sacrificed everything for what I believed in- as Justin so quaintly put it. Really, I think it was the fucking hassle trying to get my dick sucked outside of the loft. Closing the backroom to me is analogous to pissing in the holy water to my mother. Although, I didn’t really appreciate his homophobic views. ‘Let’s just say we’re no longer batting for the same team,’ my fucking ass.

But I don’t say any of that. “Well, I wasn’t exactly token, but yes, I did work for Stockwell.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? Working for that homophobic prick!”

Nice. 

Justin pipes up, “Fuck you! If you knew what Brian did–“

“Justin.” I silence him. I really don’t want every fag in Pittsburgh to know I’m the ‘Concerned Citizens for the Truth’, thank you very much. “I didn’t work for him towards the end of the campaign.” I tell him.

“Who cares? You’re still a fucking homophobic fag. You’re just like Ke-“ He stops himself.

“Ken Reikert?” I say. 

He eyes me, suddenly suspicious. “What do you know about Ken Reikert? And what the fuck are you doing here, anyway?”

“We were hoping you could help us by telling us a few things. And as far as Reikert: well, I know he used to be Stockwell’s partner on the force. And I know he resigned when Stockwell’s campaign began, so he wouldn’t tarnish Jimbo’s pristine image. I know he was involved with Jason Kemp. And I know he supposedly killed himself after it looked as though he was going to be arrested and tried for killing Kemp.” I pause and gauge Gary’s reaction. He looks somewhat stunned. “I also know he was your…” Ugh. “…Your boyfriend.” There. Said it. “And, on a related note, I know that your son was best friends with Kemp.”

There’s a long silence. Gary has turned an odd shade of green and his eyes have left mine, shifting over to Ethan’s. The only sound is Ethan’s damned cat who has come up to me and has started rubbing against my leg and purring. Gawd.

I glance at Ethan, who looks positively confused. And, it’s Ethan who breaks the silence. “I don’t know any Kemp.” He says simply.

Huh? It takes me a second to register what he’s saying. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Justin furrows his brow, puzzled. It clicks into place: “Wait a second. Gary is your father?” This is too weird, I swear. ‘It’s a Fucking Minuscule World’ should be the song for glorious gay Pittsburgh. Fuck ‘Small’. 

“Yes, he’s my fucking father.” Ethan sneers. Fucking chin-rat. “What’s it to you?”

Now, okay. It’s understandable that Ethan doesn’t like me much. And it’s understandable that since he’s across the room, he feels he can be threatening. But goddammit if I don’t want to go right over to him and throw him bodily through the grimy window behind him. Without opening it first. But instead, I just ball my fists. Christ, I’m being so good today, I’m gonna have to be extra shitty later, I swear it. 

“Well, Ian, isn’t that swell. You may then want to know that you have a brother named Jimmy. Who, incidentally, is fighting for his life in some tiny backwater hospital in Mamaroneck, New York. Put into a coma by someone who forced us off the fucking road. And your father here probably either did it, or knows who did.” I snarl. Before thinking. And now I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t said it, but there it is.

And yes. Predictably, both Gary and Ethan stare at me, dumbfounded. “A brother?” Ethan finally says, incredulously. “Whoa.” He actually looks somewhat pleased with the idea, albeit still stunned.

“Seems ol’Gair likes the ladies as much as the men. Two sons (we know of, at least) who don’t even know each other.” Gawd, Kinney. You seem to be suffering from diarrhea of the mouth at the moment. And I realize that getting Gary to help us out now is rather unlikely. Justin just shifts a little, uncomfortable. I suppose part of the Kinney charm is making other people embarrassed. And I have loads of Kinney charm, lemme tell ya.

”Shut the fuck up, you fucking piece of shit!” Gary hisses at me, apparently sizing me up as to whether he could take me or not. Not. Wounded or no.

“Look, Mr. Montgomery. We’re sorry- we didn’t know Ethan is… is your son. But it’s true. Hu- er, Jimmy is in a coma. And we were run off the road the other day. I can tell you the details if you want to go visit him.” Justin. Mr. Damage Control. I roll my eyes. Although, I am rather proud of him. 

Gary seems to relax a little. “Is he going to be alright?” He asks, worried. I notice Ethan is still processing this ‘brother’ information because his mouth is open and he’s staring at Gary in complete disbelief. Gary seems to have forgotten all about him in his concern over Hunter.

“He’s not on any life support, but he is still in a coma.” Justin says, gently. “And you may be able to help us with why he ended up there at all- I mean, we have…” Justin is suddenly at a loss for words. Yeah. We have your and honey-pie’s love letters and have been reading all your private sappy sentiments for days now. How does one put that? Hm.

Why, bluntly, of course: “Gary, we have letters of yours and Reikert’s. To each other, I mean. And we were hoping you could maybe shed some light on a little mystery we seem to be in charge of solving for fuck knows what reason.” 

Gary turns his attention to me. “Letters? Ken’s and my letters? Where the fuck did you get those!?” He doesn’t like me, I’m thinkin’. Fuck it. He can join Ted and the other million and a half with the same opinion.

“The cop who found him in his garage picked them up. And he seems to think that Reikert didn’t kill Kemp. Or commit suicide for that matter. And we were hoping you might know something about all of this that we don’t.”

He gazes at me slack-jawed for quite awhile. Then finally: “That asshole! That asshole! That fucking asshole you almost got elected!” He growls at me angrily. His fists are so tightly balled up his knuckles are white. 

“Mr. Montgomery, please- if you know anything, any proof or whatever- please tell us. Hun- um Jimmy seems terrified of the cops but he won’t tell us why. What…?” Justin leaves the question dangling.

He lets out a breath. “It will help find whoever hurt Jimmy?” 

Justin nods. “Hopefully.”

A few moments pass. Gary seems to be considering. I actually believe now he wasn’t the one in the other car. Then: “That stupid Kemp kid. It’s all his fucking fault. All of it.” He says, resentfully. He looks absently over at a sketch on the wall of a fucking fiddler. Glad to see it’s not Justin’s style. “He was fucking around with Ken and after awhile he found out that Ken’d been Stockwell’s partner on the force for years. Started blackmailing Stockwell about it- you know, threatening to go to the press and reveal that he, an under-aged male prostitute, was fucking Mr. Moral of Pittsburgh’s years-long partner. He was so stupid, that kid. I wish Jimmy’d never met him.” He shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t even seem to be aware that we’re here anymore. We stay quiet, listening. “But that cunt, Rita- my ex wife- started to pimp Jimmy out after I left. Fucking bitch. I never would have thought she could stoop that low. He ran away and ended up in Pittsburgh, in this part of town called the Vaseline towers. It’s where young gay runaways go- and often, die.” He shudders at that. “He lived on the streets for fuck knows how long. And it was there- at those towers- that he met Kemp. And it was there, ironically, where Kenny met Kemp, too. Anyway.” He suddenly looks up, remembering we’re here. “I- we believed Stockwell had something to do with Kemp’s death, although Ken was reluctant to believe it. He begged me not to make anything of it. Fucking loyal as a dog to that shit of a man. I guess Stockwell had saved Ken’s life at one time. Anyhow, I didn’t do anything about it, to keep Ken happy. Although honestly, there wasn’t any proof that wasn’t merely consequential, anyway.” He pauses a moment. “Oh. And Ken’s death.” He frowns slightly. “… I don’t have a clue about that. Although…” He pauses thoughtfully. “He did call me shortly before he died. The call was a really short one - I was on my cell in the car and in the middle of the conversation I hit a dead spot, and he got cut off. Then I was at work, so I didn’t call him back.” He pauses again, thinking. “Oh, yeah! He was talking about these two guys trying to nail him for Kemp’s murder.” 

Fuck me! Justin and I glance at each other- God, I hope he doesn’t make the connection, I think to myself. And it’s obvious Justin is thinking the same thing.

“He said he’d written to me about it but found he’d left the letter on his dresser for too long and figured he’d just call after I got back from my trip.” He looks at us. “Huh.” He says. “Huh!” Shit shit shit. “Weird. He could’ve been describing you two, you know that? Tall brunet, beautiful, something of an asshole.” Well, at least I got tall and beautiful. “Yeah, and a short blond. Pretty face. Bad dresser.” 

Omigod! I bite the inside of my mouth so hard I taste blood trying not to laugh. I see Justin frown briefly before he regains his game face. “Oh, no- no!- I’m sorry Justin-“ ol’Gair stammers. Obviously he doesn’t care for Justin’s attire any more than Ken did. I have no comment. “No, I’m not- you dress-“

“Forget it.” Justin says, waving it off stoically.

“Sorry. Really. But wow, really, he could have been describing you two. Oh, and sorry about the asshole thing,” he says to me as an afterthought. I don’t respond because if I open my mouth, I’m going to burst out laughing and that really wouldn’t be fitting at the moment, would it? Besides, it’s quite obvious he doesn’t really mean it- he thinks I AM an asshole. But I don’t care. I just keep biting my cheek. Justin’s gonna be in a pissy mood for days over that crack. Gary just shrugs lightly and “’Huh’s” again a couple of times over the ‘coincidence’, but finally he seems to dismiss it. Probably seems too coincidental to him. I’m starting to believe that in miniscule Pittsburgh, anything can happen. Luckily for us, he doesn’t seem to think so. 

“Yeah, so anyway, there were these two guys who suspected he’d killed Kemp. Something about finding his semen in the kid’s ass. Well, I’m sure his semen was in the fucking kid’s ass. As I said, Kemp was his fucking fuck buddy. And I don’t know if you two saw that ad that came out right before the election- damned clever one, but it really fucked Ken over. Implicated that he’d killed Kemp, and then Stockwell covered it up because Ken was a cop. And his former partner. The latter two parts are true. But I don’t believe Ken killed the boy. In fact, I’d swear he didn’t. I hated the fact that he was seeing this kid on the side. My fucking son’s best friend.” He frowns. “But I was traveling a lot at the time, so it was understandable, I guess. But after many…” he hesitates and rubs the back of his neck, “…many arguments, he finally let the boy loose.” Justin glances at me. ‘Arguments’ my ass. I think to myself. Bloodbaths more like. “Or so he told me. That was about a week before the kid was found in a dumpster on Liberty Avenue. I guess he was still seeing him, eh? His fucking semen in the kid’s hole.” He grimaces, then shakes his head, realizing he has an audience.

“Did he say anything else in the call?”

“Hm. There was something else he was talking about before the phone died.” I fucking hope so. So far, we’ve learned squat. Well, except that Ian is Hunter’s brother and Gair’s son. Suddenly, and of course, inappropriately- and probably because I haven’t gotten over the ‘bad dresser’ crack- I feel the urge to laugh: we have all completely forgotten about Ethan- that Ethan is even in the fucking room, and he’s still standing by the goddamned dirty dishes with the same stunned gape on his face. I quickly cover my mouth with my palm but not before I let out a small snort. Justin digs a finger into my side to shut me up, but that only tickles and I quickly push it away before I truly burst out laughing. “Stop it!” He hisses under his breath. Then he follows my gaze and sees Ethan. Suddenly he covers his mouth too. 

Gawd. We’re like a couple of schoolgirls with the giggles. 

Throughout all this, thankfully, Gary seems to be so lost in thought trying to remember that he doesn’t notice. And Ethan certainly doesn’t. He’s in another world.

“…There was something about a woman- Tina or Dina or Lena or something. I didn’t catch the name.”

That grabs my attention and I get serious quick. While Gair here might like women and men, I never got the impression that Kenny had a taste for anything but cock. So, why he’d be talking about a woman makes me curious. Justin notices my reaction and his smiles quickly vanish. A loss, actually, I think absently to myself.

“What about her?” I say.

“That’s when he got cut off. He just said something about this woman and to watch my ass. For who, I had no idea, obviously. But Ken was always paranoid. I had learned that early on- always telling me to watch my ass for someone or another. He had a little bit of a delusional complex.”

“Was it ‘Gina’?” I ask. Gina Stockwell. Jim’s wife. I met her a small handful of times while working with the guy. I’m kind of surprised I remember her at all. After Stockwell found out ‘my orientation’, though, I met her once or twice after he’d hired me back and she had acted as if I had the plague or something. Wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Or shake my hand. She seemed completely disgusted with me. Kind of a nut job, really. And not in a positive, life affirming sort of way. I suddenly want to get out of here.

Gary’s looking at me squinting slightly, as if trying to remember. “Could have been.” He says uncertainly.

“Well, Gair, thanks for your time. If anything else occurs to you, here’s my number.” I hand him one of my old cards. “The written number is the one to use. I don’t work there anymore.” I pull my crutches against my sides, but decide again against putting out my hand. “Oh, and Jimmy is at Mamaroneck Municipal Hospital. You should visit.” Or not. How you could have left him to the wolves again, and then come to live with your other fiddling son is beyond me. “My best friend and his lover took him in after they found him back on the streets.” I see my veiled accusation hits home as he averts his eyes. “Anyway, they’re up there, too.” I turn slightly and see Ethan has finally snapped out of it. “Toodles, Ian.” I smile sweetly.

Justin rolls his eyes but he shakes Gary’s hand and gives a small wave Ethan’s way. We shuffle to the door and we’re out.


	27. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

I’m sweating a little by the time we’ve gotten down, so the cold air feels good as it hits my face as we finally get outside. 

“Let’s get the fuck away from this place.” I gasp.

Justin nods eagerly, his arm around my waist. “Can you stand on your own?”

I just say, “Yes,” and clutch at the crutches when he hands them to me. He goes over to the car and opens the door. “C’mon.”

I gimp over and collapse in the front seat. 

“So, what do you think?” He asks.

I don’t know. I need to think. “I want to think on it a little. Let’s get over to Mel’s work to take Lindsay home.” 

He slams the door and walks around to get in the driver’s seat. Once the door is closed, he leans back hard, puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car. There’s a sudden blast of air from the vents.

“Brian?”

I lean down and turn off the air conditioner. “What?” 

“Ethan and Hunter are fucking brothers?”

“Well.” What do I say? “Yeah. I guess so. Somehow. Gold. Montgomery. Somehow they have different last names.”

“Maybe it’s… maybe they have different fathers.” I flash to Gus and whoeverthefuckitis Smelly Melly is carrying. Then I realize that doesn’t make sense. “Well, no- Gary’s their father. Maybe Ethan’s mother got remarried or something.”

“Oh yeah. Duh.” 

I glance over at Justin, who looks like he’s about to throw up. “Justin, are you okay?”

He looks at me. “Yeah. It’s just...”

“Weird. I know. Let’s get out of here.”

“We didn’t learn much, really. Or show the guy the letters and shit.”

“Later. Do you really want to go the fuck back up there? It’s not like he needs to see them, really. He wrote most of them.”

”No.” 

The sooner we get out of here the better. “Let’s go then.”


	28. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

Jesus H. Christ. That was fucking weirder than SHIT. Seeing Ethan – and Gary, his fucking father… God. 

I shudder.

I pull up to the curb beside Mel’s work and turn off the engine. I wish we’d just stayed in bed all day instead of going to Ethan/Gary’s. I’d kinda hoped that Ethan had moved out and it was just a weird coincidence that Gary lived there. 

Well, it was still a coincidence. Just not the one I’d hoped for. 

Fuck. 

I glance over at Brian. He seems actually okay, given that we just saw my ex-boyfriend. He gives me a quick smile and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“Justin?” I suddenly realize he’s already on the curb with the door open, leaning on his crutches. “You coming?”

I must’ve zoned out there. “Yeah. Sure. Sorry.” As I climb out of the car and slam the door, Lindsay comes out of the front door, Gus in tow. She waves at us and bundles down the steps. I shrug and get back in the car.

“Hey!” She says, coming up to the car. Brian opens the back door and Lindsay leans down to strap Gus into the car seat. “Hey, boys, do you mind taking me to the grocery store? I need some stuff for dinner tonight.”

“Sure.” I say, before Brian can protest. He just shrugs it off and folds with a grunt into the back seat next to Gus. 

”What’re we having?” He asks as Lindsay climbs into the front seat next to me. 

“What do you want?” She asks, leaning around to face him. He’s already in ‘Gus mode’ and is making silly faces at the boy. Gus is laughing like a little banshee. “I was thinking curry chicken, but I know you can be finicky.” 

I snort. Finicky isn’t the half of it, I think to myself.

Brian shoots me a look. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he says simply. “Oooh- but how about that Sunshine Chicken you make? With orange juice?”

“Sure.” She laughs. “Gus loves that, too.”

“Sunnnshine chick!” Gus blurts.

“It’s easy too.” She adds. I start the car and we’re off to the market. 

\----------------------------------

Or: so I think. It seemed Brian has forgotten about going to the diner. Until:

“Oh, hey! Swing by the diner first.” He says suddenly.

“Brian, what the fuck? I don’t have a paycheck there!” For some reason this annoys me. I just got my paycheck last Friday. He knows that. What the fuck is he doing?

Brian stays quiet. Whatever the fuck. Fine. I make a turn onto Liberty. We haven’t been here for... fuck. For weeks now. Just me going to work at the diner. And the last time I was there to work was just a week and a half ago. We’re on hiatus, Brian says. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Really, it’s because we can’t afford it. But I don’t mind- he hasn’t been tricking, after all. 

Wow! “Wow, what’s that?” I say, pointing.

“Justin! Watch it!”

I glance up and see that I’ve nearly hit someone’s car door as they swung it open into the street. 

“Ooop.” 

I quickly park. I stare over. An art supply store! Right next to the fucking diner!

“Grand opening!” Brian grins from the back. 

“Gran’ opnin’!” Gus yells, clapping.

“I thought you might want to check it out. Huge discounts right now.” He says casually. “…AND- you can network a bit with other local artists. I’ve heard this place is quite the buzz among your kind.” 

I smirk again. ‘My’ kind. 

Jesus. 

“Has shit that place on Lincoln never stocks.” I turn around to face Brian. He’s just smiling. Lindsay is too.

“Brian, how’d you know about this place?”

“Friend. Besides, it’s right next to the fucking diner, Justin.” 

“Yeah, but… this is… this is new.” I point out.

“Brian, how thoughtful.” Lindsay says.

“Fuck thoughtful. Justin is at the loft practically fucking 24/7. I need him doing something other than mothering me.” He pauses for effect. “Fuck, I need space.”

I ignore that and swing open the door and quickly open Brian’s. Lindsay gets Gus. “Can we go in?”

“That’s a kind of stupid question, Justin.” Brian says, simply. He groans as he stands up, pulling his crutches with him. “Obviously we can go in.”

It is a stupid question, but I’m suddenly kind of giddy. The mess of the last few days temporarily fades and I skip over to the front door. ‘GRAND OPENING’ it says on the window. Hee heeeee! We go in and are grateful for the sudden blast of warm air. 

It smells of charcoal, paints, canvas, paper, and… hm. And meatloaf. The diner fan must blow towards one of the intake vents, I think absently to myself. All in all, I’m in heaven.

Brian goes over to the counter. A young man sits there, smiling. “Hi, Brian!”

“Hey.” Brian says pleasantly. I walk up next to Brian. Something about how this guy is looking at him makes me uncomfortable. Who is this guy? Someone from the backroom? 

“Zach, this is Justin. Justin, Zach.” Zach leans over the counter and shakes my hand. “Zach used to intern at Vanguard, too.” Brian says. “Anyway, Justin, Zach sent me some flyers about the grand opening. I thought you might want to check it out.”

Oh. 

Oh! “This place is great! Do you go to PIFA?” 

“No, I took the semester off. I’m working to get some money together, then I’m going back.”

“I’m thinking of applying to Mandell. But I have to get some money together too.”

Brian looks away. I wince inwardly. I wish I hadn’t said that. I know he feels badly that he can’t afford to send me to school. At least not at the moment. I reach over and put my arm around him as a non-verbal apology. He just shifts a little, moving his hurt leg out a bit.

Zach nods, watching the little exchange curiously. Okay. Yeah. It’s obvious: He has the hots for Brian. But, I glance over and it’s apparent that Brian’s oblivious. Thankfully. 

Brian looks bored, actually, and scratches his head. He backs away to let us talk for a little. “Linds, let’s go next door and get something to eat.”

I personally am starving. “Brian, could you get me a burger?”

“Sure. Got cash?” He smirks. I roll my eyes and reach for my pocket. He waves me off, letting me know he wasn’t in earnest. “Zach?”

Zach shakes his head. “No, thanks. Good to see you again, Bri.” ‘Bri?’

Brian and Lindsay head for the door.


	29. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

Lindsay and I go next door and get a booth.

“That was nice of you, Brian. Thinking of Justin like that.” Lindsay says, fussing with Gus –who has grabbed the napkin dispenser and is quickly ‘dispensing’ wads upon wads of napkins.

“Like I said. I need space.”

She just gives me a disbelieving look. Bitch. “So, what about you?” She says, eyeing me pointedly. 

“I’m debating filing for bankruptcy.” I say flatly.

“Brian, for God’s sake- you are not!”

In all honesty, I’ve considered it. But I bite my tongue. And await the inevitable:

“Why aren’t you out looking for a job?”

I roll my eyes. 

Jesus, people. Leave me the fuck alone!

But, actually, there is an opening I’ve heard about. In New York City. On Broadway. But I’m not sure I want to talk about that yet. “I’ve been nosing around.” I say simply.  
Debbie walks up suddenly. How I didn’t notice her approach, I don’t know- she’s in rare form today. ‘FUCK OFF!’ is emblazoned across her chest in bright red letters. Nice. Very nice. 

“Hey!” She says, way too cheerfully for my mood at the moment. I want to quote her shirt to her, but I keep my mouth shut. For some reason, all the stuff Justin was saying at the loft this morning is nagging at me. I should be thinking about what ol’ Fairy Gary said, but I’m not, really. Just what Justin said. I try to ignore it. Deb glances at me. “Jesus, Brian. You look like sh– er, you look like crap.” She corrects, noting Gus. Now I really want to quote her shirt to her. Not waiting for a response, her attention immediately shifts away from me. “Hi, Gussy! How’s my punken?” She reaches across my nose to pinch his cheek. I have to lean back so she doesn’t hit me in the face.

“Jesus, Deb! Watch it!” 

She ignores me. “God, Lindsay, he is getting bigger every time I see him!”

“You just saw him a few days ago,” I remind her. 

She shoots me a look. “Well, with you for a father, I’m thinking he’ll be growing like a weed for quite awhile, assho—Brian...” 

Suddenly, she crosses her arms and leans back to look at me, critically. “How you doin’, kiddo?” She asks, more softly.

“I’ll be alright.” I say dismissively. God, I’m sick of being treated like a fucking invalid. “Mikey finally called you, I assume?”

She smiles. “Yeah. Finally. The little shi–, er, the stinker.” God, it’s like she has Tourette’s syndrome or something. “He’s gone to see Ben and Hunter today. Hunter’s doing better, they said. Not awake yet, but all his vitals or whatever are stable and strong.”

I nod. That’s good. I hesitate at first, but plow forward: “Is Mikey going to be in trouble with the law? Have you talked with Horvath?”

Deb doesn’t skip a beat, obviously on the same wavelength. “Carl doesn’t know if he will or won’t. With Hunter’s mother dead,” she quickly makes the sign of the cross. I roll my eyes. For all her bullshitting and swearing, she’s as pious as they come. Although, I prefer her brand of piety over my mother’s. I shudder involuntarily, turning my attention back to what she’s saying. “…it’s uncertain if Michael’ll face charges. No one to press any, really. Unless the State does, but he doesn’t think... well, he doesn’t know.” She gets a worried look.

“Well, at least he’s alright.” Lindsay says quickly. I nod.

“Did you find Hunter’s Dad?” Deb asks suddenly.

“Well.” Do I want to get into this now? No. “Yes. Didn’t actually learn a whole lot. Oh, but this is rich: Ethan lives with Hunter’s dad.” Debbie and Lindsay both gasp at that. “And: the guy is Ethan’s dad, too.” I chuckle. “You should have seen the expression on Ethan’s face when he heard about Hunter. His long lost brother. I’m surprised he didn’t slip on his own drool.”

Lindsay and Deb are quiet a few moments, letting this bit of news sink in. “Wow. Fuck.” Debbie finally says, all thoughts of censoring herself gone now, I suppose. “That… that kid – that asshole- is part of our family?”

I shudder at her words. Fuck that! Luckily Ethan’s been on Debbie’s shit list ever since ‘the family’ found out why he and Justin had broken up- so instead of inviting him right now to Sunday lunch, she’s bitching. “Doesn’t have to be.” Is all I say. “Gary’s no picnic, either, you know.”

“Who’s Gary?”

“His –his and Hunter’s dad.” 

“Gran’m’ Debbeeeee!” Gus giggles, breaking the weirdness of the moment, holding out a fistful of napkins like he’s presenting her a gift. She shakes her head and switches her focus to Gus.

She smiles big. “Gussy! Thank you!” She exclaims, bowing regally and taking the napkins like she’s accepting fucking gold, frankincense and myrrh. “Sweetie, thank you so much!“

“Deb. Can we order?” My head’s beginning to ache and my mood’s going to shit. This was a lousy idea. Who’s was it, anyway? Fuck. I suddenly just want to go home.

She gives Gus a big grin and then frowns at me briefly. “You’re his father? This bundle of sweetness and joy’s father?” She smirks. Bitch. But she’s actually being good-natured, so I don’t say anything. Then she pulls out her notepad and poises the tip of her pencil on the page: “Fine, what’ll it be?”

I glance at Lindsay. “Can we make it to go?” I ask. She shrugs, grabbing some of the napkins Gus has dropped on the bench. “Burger and fries for Justin, who’s next door—“

“I was wondering where Sunshine was. You two have been virtually inseparable since before the election.” I roll my eyes. Then a look of recognition flashes across her face. “Oh my God! Yes! I can’t believe I forgot- that art supply place is fantastic- and they have fu- incredible discounts for their grand opening!” She gushes enthusiastically.

“Yeah. Okay. He’s all over it. Now can we order?”

“Fucker…” She mutters at me, then quickly covers her mouth looking contritely at Lindsay. 

“‘S’okay Deb,” she laughs lightly. “With this around,” she gestures at me. Jesus, the womenfolk are bitchy today. “…There’s no way to keep him from hearing every word in the book.” Debbie grins, then looks at me with a slight scowl. Sigh.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I’ll have the turkey sandwich, no–“

“No mayo, yeah, yeah.” She interrupts. “On whole wheat. Toasted. Yadda yadda. You get the same thing every fuc– every time, Brian. You’re as bad as Teddy.” 

Now THAT was NOT a nice thing to say and I shoot her a mean look. 

She ignores me completely, turning her attention to Lindsay and Gus. “Lindsay?”

“I’ll have the same, but with mayo. Oh, and tomatoes, onions, lettuce- oh, and put some mustard packets in the bag, would you? And a pickle. Um, and fries, too. Gus likes fries.” 

I roll my eyes. Gus will eat maybe 3 fries. They’re for Lindsay. Lindsay’s orders are always complicated. Fucking high maintenance, that woman. 

“And Gussy?”

“I’ll just share my order with Gus. He doesn’t eat much.” Lindsay says quickly. Yeah, right. “Like father like son, I guess.” She adds. I wince slightly. I hate that expression.

Deb is staring at her. “Gus likes all those onions and shit?” She asks, incredulously. 

Ha! Busted! I think. 

Linds always does this. It always ends up with me giving Gus half of my sandwich- partly because Lindsay inhales hers, and partly because he doesn’t like all those onions and shit. It’s like Linds wants people to think she doesn’t eat much. But she eats like a fucking horse. I mean, good lord- she just came from lunch with Smelly Melly. 

I clear my throat. “Lindsay means that I’ll be sharing with Gus.” I correct.

“Oh.” Debbie says simply, a little puzzled. “Okay, coming right up. Any drinks?”

Drinks. 

“Beam. Straight. A double. To Go.” 

Deb just smirks at me. “Yeah. Right.” She tosses a look at Lindsay who shoots me a disapproving frown. Gus, however, looks at me as if he wouldn’t mind the same. Probably not good. Still and all, I bite back a chuckle. He has no idea what ‘Beam’ is, of course. “No fuc- no whiskey, Brian.” She refocuses on Lindsay. “Any sodas or milk, hun?” She clarifies. 

Oh well.

“No thanks, Debbie.” Lindsay says. “We’ll get something at home.” 

I’m jarred nearly off balance when Deb suddenly shrieks, “SUNSHINE!” - I hear the door clang behind me. I guess Justin just walked in. Brilliant deduction.

“Hi, Debbie.” He says, finding himself engulfed in a giant hug.

“How you doin’, Sunshine?” She chortles, releasing him. “Jesus, your hair’s getting too long, you know that?” She adds, flicking a blond lock with a garish, red acrylic nail. “Pretty soon you’ll need barrettes.” 

I snort at that image and Justin kind of frowns, but shrugs it off. He’s shrugged off quite a few remarks about his looks today so far… I just hope I’m not the one there when the lid finally blows. Pretty sure I will be, though. Oh well.

“Uh huh.” Is all he says. But I can guarantee you that he just bit back a snide retort having something to do with her hair. But he tries to be polite with her for the most part. “Maybe next week, I’ll get it cut.”

Uh huh.

“He’s going for the Bohemian artiste look.” I contribute helpfully. 

“Asshole.” He decidedly does not try to be polite with me, I’ve noticed. “Guess what?” He slides into the booth next to me, letting the topic go. “Brian, that Zach guy is a really great painter! He showed me some of his stuff. I’ll betcha he makes it big!”

“How nice for him.” Who cares? “Deb? Our order?” I remind her. I want to get out of here.

“Comin’ right up! And Sunshine, that place is perfect for you! They have great deals, especially right now! You and that little bubble butt of yours can take your tips and go right next door after your shifts!” She bustles off into the kitchen to give the cook our order. 

“We ordered to go.” I say to Justin, changing the subject entirely. “Lindsay, do you mind if you just drop us off at the loft? Or, at least me? Go shopping without me? I’m getting... I have something of a headache.” I raise my fingers to rub my temple absently, trying to massage some relief into my fucking head. For whatever reason, I glance over at my son, who’s fallen asleep. With a smile on his face. God, how did I have such a fucking happy kid? I find myself wondering if I was ever a happy kid. I let out an ironic laugh to myself. Decidedly: NO. 

And what brought on this bizarre mood I’m in today, anyway? I’ve been in one all day. I notice Justin is looking at me hard for some reason. I try to ignore him.

“Sure.” She answers. “Then I’ll swing by and pick you up for dinner at around 6? Oh! Remind me to ask Debbie to come when she comes back. So,” she turns her eyes to Justin. “What kind of paintings does the boy do?” 

Justin looks away from me then and faces Lindsay. “Lots of landscapes, portraits. He has a great sense of composition.” Justin says. “He says he wants me to sit for him!” 

Uh oh. Let’s keep this little friendship you’re developing on a professional level, Sunshine.   
“He wants you to, too, Brian-“ he adds, “a portrait of us together.” 

Oh. 

That’s better. Except:

“That’s so cute!” Lindsay says, shrilly. Ugh. 

“That’s too ‘couple-y’, Justin. Besides, I hate sitting still for hours on end and getting yelled at every time I have to scratch my nose or something.” Justin looks a little sheepish at my mention of that. He knows, of course, that I’m referring the ONE time I actually agreed to sit for him. Biggest mistake of my life, I swear. He got so focused on the drawing that if I shifted a little or had an itch, he bit my fucking head off. He was a fucking tyrant. Needless to say, I cut that modeling session short.

“But Brian, it’d be cool- we don’t have many pictures of us together.”

“That’s fucking bull and you know it. Every time we go to the munchers’, they take so many goddamned photos of us with Gus I’m surprised I haven’t gone blind from all the flashbulbs and they haven’t gone broke from getting film developed!” It’s true. They’re relentless. Linds is, anyway. Mel will take a shot of Gus and Justin once in awhile, but she’s not as into it. Plus, we all know her high opinion of me, and my being involved in my own fucking son’s life- the last thing she wants to do is record it for posterity. Christ. “’Couple pictures’ are decidedly for breeders and lezzies.” I add.

Lindsay scoffs and Justin opens his mouth no doubt to whine some more but just then Debbie comes up with two bags, dropping one in front of me and Justin, the other in front of Lindsay. Thank you, Debbie! But I know I haven’t heard the end of it. Gawd. A portrait. I snort. There must be a full-assed moon shining over Liberty Avenue lately or something.

I reach into the bag and take out the Styrofoam box with my sandwich in it. Flicking it open, I take a half and hand it to Lindsay. “Here. Since we aren’t going to your house. For Gus.” Obviously. Lindsay looks a little embarrassed, but accepts the half sandwich, putting it into the box with hers.

“Didn’t you just have lunch with Mel?” Justin asks, utterly serious and completely innocent. I burst out laughing and he looks at me confused. Her face reddens. Either they had- yuck!- sex instead, or she’s doing what she normally does- Hoover food.

“Yes. But we… we got to… talking.”

Justin nods. I look over at him, still laughing. Sometimes I worry about the kid. He can be as gullible as they come. I’ll fill him in later. So, we’re good to go. “Okay, good. Thanks, Deb- hey, let me know if you hear any news from Michael.”

She looks at me, a brief expression of worry clouding her features. “I will, honey. And you do the same. And take care of yourself- you look like shit on a stick!” I ignore her last comment. But ‘honey’. She rarely calls me anything but ‘asshole’. She must be worried. But, she puts on her game face and when we get up, she slaps Justin’s ass as we’re heading to the door. He just skips a step and yelps a short protest. 

Then I remember. “Linds. Deb. Dinner.” I say before she pushes open the front door. 

“Oh, right!” She says, turning, “Deb!” She goes back to tell Debbie about tonight and I glance at Justin. He’s got a serious expression on his face all of a sudden, and is staring at a coffee cup on the table in front of us. I decide not to say anything. I know that expression. And I don’t want to deal with it. Right now, anyway. 

Let’s get the fuck out of here.


	30. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

Brian’s in a thoughtful mood when we get back to the loft. Quiet. Pensive. And I gauge that his headache is really bad from the way he keeps pinching his nose and rubbing his temples. As much as I want to reach out to him, I let him be. You kind of don’t reach out to Brian. You pick your moments and usually he’s pretty good at letting you know when he’ll be receptive. You just have to know him. 

I’ve managed to put thoughts about the bashing, the hospital, almost losing Brian - to the back of my mind. Well, sort of. Well, actually, when I saw Brian looking so intently at Gus in the diner, it all kind of resurfaced. Why, who fucking knows. But Brian had this look like all his demons were right at his heels and it brought everything I’d been trying to push away back. Until then, I’d been somewhat successful in distracting myself. But the car ride home was silent. No distractions.

I sigh. Great.

“Want a beer?” Brian calls from the fridge, startling me.

“Um. No, thanks.” I answer. I walk over and sit at the kitchen counter.

He looks at me and pops the lid off a bottle using the opener by the sink. He doesn’t say anything, but keeps scrutinizing me with a slight look of concern.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” 

“Are you okay?” Is all he asks. 

I look down at my hands. “Yeah. I think so. Thanks for letting me know about that new art supply store, by the way.” 

He doesn’t answer. 

“And I really do think the portrait thing would be cool.” I’m not sure he’s thinking about what I’m thinking about, so I don’t bring it up. No. That’s bullshit. I am sure he’s thinking about it, too. But he has enough on his mind at the moment. 

“Justin, quit it. I think you know what I’m talking about. And you haven’t said a word since we got in that godforsaken smoking Cavalier. What with that artsy fartsy store opening up, I’d think you’d have been chattering like a fucking teenaged girl this whole time.”

“Well, you seemed to not… to not want to talk about it. This morning, I mean. Before Lindsay showed up.” I say quietly. And it’s true- this morning he looked pained when I’d mentioned it. Not angry. Not upset. Not sad. Genuinely pained. I know how much the bashing affected him, and here he’s finally put it behind him - and I can’t stop yammering about it all of a sudden. 

Brian sighs and sits beside me. “Well. Quite frankly, I don’t.” He admits. “But you do seem to. And… well, let’s just get it over with.” 

I snort. “It’s so nice to see your sensitive side.” I mutter. Jesus. Then I feel a little bad. I know better than that. This is Brian in one of his more sensitive moods- he just doesn’t do shmaltz. I look at him quickly and he knows I didn’t mean it. He just waves it off. “By the way, it’s time for your pills.” I say, starting to get up.

“Later. What is with you? I’m listening, willing to talk about that godforsaken chapter of our little lives, and you keep changing the subject.”

“I know. I just… I just...”

He takes a deep breath and I hear a slight hitch, but his voice is steady: ”You said you had – you’ve been having dreams. Nightmares.”

I nod. I’ve been trying to stay focused on the dreams. The dream of Brian- drop dead beautiful- leading me around the dance floor, dressed in a tux, smile on his face. Jesus, he had looked so fucking happy- like I’d never seen him before. Openly happy- no cynicism, no sarcasm… well, it was at a minimum, anyway. And I remember my heart being filled to the fucking hilt with love for him. And I could see that he felt the same way. I saw it in his smile, his soft eyes, his whole face. 

But then. 

Then, it mutates into the parking garage dream. Which, well, it also is fantastic- indescribable, really. At first. We’re at the Jeep, laughing and talking. Brian kisses me, wraps the white scarf he’d been wearing around my shoulders. Fucking best night of my life and it was ending beautifully.

‘Later,’ we had said to each other. 

Then.

Then I remember walking away, singing a little, holding that scarf. And suddenly hearing Brian’s voice, filled with panic, fear, terror.

“JUSTIN!!!”

I remember swinging around and seeing Hobbs’ face- it was twisted in a furious grimace. But it was his eyes. They were filled with anger and pure, unadulterated hatred. It’s his eyes that I keep seeing in my mind. Although, this all must have happened in a split second because I- God, I think I was even still smiling- I couldn’t react, I couldn’t move, as this thing was coming at my head.

I notice Brian is looking at me hard. “Justin?”

I look at him and realize I’m shaking. And I also realize I’m blinking back tears. “I think I remember that night. I think my dreams are from my own memories, Brian. And it was beautiful. You were beautiful. It was magical. Until.”

His eyes soften and he reaches over to wipe a tear away from my cheek. “I know.” Is all he says.

“All these beautiful dreams of you showing up. Us dancing. Kissing on the dance floor. And that was such an incredible kiss- I felt so fucking proud. Of you. Me. Us. No one else mattered. Existed, even. Then kissing by the Jeep. Jesus.” I shake my head and feel myself laughing through my tears at the memories. “It was… God, it was almost surreal it was so amazing, you know?” I glance at him and he’s smiling gently, but he stays quiet.

Then I shut my eyes hard, trying to will the rest of it away. But I can’t. “And then I’d wake up, and see you lying broken in that hospital bed, sleeping so fitfully and wincing if you accidentally moved your leg or head the wrong way. And I was so scared. I was so scared I was going to lose you. I’d stay awake for hours and hours just to watch you breathe. Make sure you kept breathing. Then, then inevitably I’d fall asleep and the nightmares would start.” I reach up and swipe another tear before it falls from my face. “I keep seeing Hobbs’ face. His eyes. God, Brian- he would have killed me dead if you hadn’t been there. I know that now. I’d be fucking dead.” Brian looks down at the floor. “He looked at me with such hate, Brian. I mean, pure hate. I never have seen that before. I never want to see it again.” I’ve started full on crying now. Fuck. “And now that I remember… I want to forget.” Brian glances at me. “I mean, just that part. I want only the wonderful dreams- memories- to stay and I want to push the nightmares the fuck away and not remember. Not remember the sound of sheer panic in your voice when you called my name to warn me. Not remember Hobbs’ eyes. Not remember that look. Not remember the bat.”

Brian looks at me and reaches to grasp one of my hands in his good one. I notice his jaw clench. I can’t tell if he’s angry, or if he’s biting back some other emotion. “I didn’t know that.” He says quietly, barely perceptively. I feel him shudder and I realize he’s trying hard not to break down. “I never knew you saw his face.” He whispers. 

“Fuck!” He says suddenly, startling me. “FUCK!” He’s shaking and lets my hand go to rake his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, Justin.” He says, more quietly this time. 

“Brian, please don’t. Please. I can’t stand you thinking it was your fault- I was having problems with Hobbs way before that night, you know that. It wasn’t your fault.” I plead.

Brian looks at me unsteadily then seems to collect himself. “Well, that aside, Justin- this isn’t really about me right now, anyway.” He says softly. I’m fucking sobbing. Brian reaches behind me, pulls me to him and wraps his arm around me, holding my head against his shoulder, kissing my hair. “It will be alright, Justin. I promise.” 

Promise. 

And it’s then that I really I lose it. I’m suddenly fucking crying so hard I can hardly breathe; the noises I make sound alien to me, like some kind of wounded animal. “And the dreams all blend into this mess, Brian,” I splutter whenever I can inhale and manage words. “And I start to see blood EVERYwhere... and it’s YOUR blood... we’re in the car... and you’re getting so woozy you can hardly keep your eyes open. And…” I cough. “Brian, and in my dreams you CAN’T keep them open... and I can’t see the buttons on the cell phone-... so the paramedics never come, Brian. Fuck, Brian!... And I’m helpless, desperately punching numbers on the phone... but I can’t seem to get it right and I’m watching you bleed... bleed everywhere... Brian, bleed to DEATH.” I’m totally hysterical now, hardly able to speak. And Brian holds me tighter, his lips in my hair, kissing me over and over and over. “Brian I don’t want to remember this shit! I don’t want to have any more nightmares!” I vaguely feel his casted arm wrap around me from the right- I’m literally quaking as all these pictures flash in my mind’s eye. I try to focus on his steady arms, so strong around me, holding me fast. And I’m spent; I can’t gather the breath to say anymore. Between my guttural wails, I realize he’s started whispering softly that it will be alright, that it’s good that I remembered, that he didn’t die, that I probably saved his life, that I didn’t die, that I’ll get past this, that WE’LL get past this, TOGETHER- and hearing that… THAT pushes me off whatever slim edge I had left. Because I love him so much, if I’d lost him in that goddamned car wreck, I’d wither away and fucking die. And I keep flashing between seeing all that blood- so much blood- all over the front seat, Brian, his leg, his head bleeding profusely- and him getting loopier and loopier. Waiting ages and AGES for the sirens- the whole time, me yelling at him - screaming at him at the top of my lungs- how much I love him, to not close his eyes, to stay with me, not to leave me, never to leave me- God, I said so much shit and I was so terrified… and then I flash to hearing Brian’s panicked voice screaming my name, seeing Hobbs’ eyes, the sudden flash of the bat. I’m fucking drenching his shirt and leaning so hard on him I must be hurting him but I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. And he just holds me. For the longest time, as I fucking lose my mind- he just keeps holding me. Tight. 

Eventually, eventually, I start to slow down. 

“Justin?” Brian says as I gulp for air. “Justin.” He pauses again. “Justin. You’re safe now.” He says. And he pulls back his good arm and cups my chin to look into my eyes and I very blearily see that he’s been crying too. “Do you hear me? You. Are. Safe. Now.” I’m still hiccupping and sobbing but I’m not hysterical anymore. I nod, looking into his eyes. 

“Bri—“ I hiccup sharply. Fuck it. “Brian?”

“Yes?”

I inhale shakily. “Brian.” I’ve lost myself his eyes. “Brian… I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. So much that I couldn’t lose you- can’t lose you, ever! Bri--” He suddenly leans down and kisses what must be the most disgustingly snot-covered, tear-stained face on earth and I squeeze him so tightly that I feel a small puff of air enter my mouth as we kiss. 

“Justin?” He asks when our lips finally part. I can feel his fingers in my hair and I lean back into his hand and close my eyes. I feel safe. Here. I feel safe. With Brian. “Justin?” He says again. I open my eyes and look at his beautiful face. I’m feeling calmer and calmer.

“What?”

“Do you feel safe? Right now?” He asks simply, sniffling just slightly.

Yes. I lean forward and rest my head against his chest, feeling the moisture, the fucking mucous or whatever the fuck it is I’ve wiped all over his shirt on my cheek, feeling his palm cupping the back of my head, his fingers in my hair. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. “Yes.” God I feel so safe. “Brian: Yes, yes, yes.” 

He gently pulls my head back to look at me again. “Justin. Then I want you always to remember this. Whenever you feel panicked, or spooked. Or, if you can, if you’re having a nightmare, remember this. Will yourself to remember this moment. Do you promise?”

Yes. I’m lost again in his hazel eyes. 

“Justin. Promise?” He says again.

“I promise.” I whisper.

“Good.” He leans down and kisses me again and his lips are so warm, so welcome. It’s a soft, slow kiss, a ‘comfort kiss’ I think I once called it, and when I open my eyes, I see him looking at me with an odd sort of tenderness. “Okay now?”

“Yeah. Brian?” He looks at me, cocking an eyebrow. “Brian, thank you.”

He waves me off. “Okay. Now, Jesus, get me a different fucking shirt to wear. You fucking drooled and snotted all over this one.”

I laugh, still hiccupping a little. “Um. Sorry about that. It is kind of disgusting, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh. Good word for it.” He says, shrugging out of it.

I go into the bedroom and pick out a black wifebeater and hand it to him.


	31. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

Jesus, that was intense. What a fucking drama princess, I swear. But I’m glad he got that out. I’m glad he talked about it. And God, I hope he gets past this. We get past all this. He’s been through shit. No thanks to me. I watch him from the bedroom as I change my shirt. He’s busying himself with dinner. I called Lindsay and we rescheduled for this Friday. Neither Justin nor I could muster the energy to go over there tonight.

“So, what’s for dinner, Wolfgang Taylor?” I ask, hobbling into the kitchen.

He smiles. Good. And his face is getting a little less puffy. “Chicken Cacciatore. You like?”

“I don’t even know what’s in Chicken Cacciatore, actually.” And I don’t. Never had it.

He just looks at me, completely shocked, and I can’t help but laugh a little.

“You’ve never had it? Debbie never… No shit! It’s right up your alley, Brian- chicken with lots of veggies in a red sauce. Capers—“

“Fuck capers. No capers. I don’t have any capers in this loft and if you bring any in, I’ll fucking toss them. I hate those things.”

He sighs. “Fine, I’ll leave out the capers. And there’s sherry, and wine... And I’m going to make the low-fat version, just for you.”

“Yippee skip. Even so, I’m sure by the time these fucking limbs of mine heal, I’ll be a fucking cow. Haven’t been to the gym in ages.” I mutter.

“Brian, you’re a fucking rail. Don’t worry about that.”

I just roll my eyes and reach over to pull his head to me for a kiss. A soft kiss. Slow. A ‘comfort kiss’ Justin once called it, and when I open my eyes, I see him looking at me with -Gawd- love in his eyes.

“You just don’t see yourself sometimes, you know that? You don’t recognize things about yourself. How good you are. You take on too much responsibility for stuff, for other people.” He says softly. 

Uh huh. Bullshit. “And you’re the expert?”

“Yes. In fact, I am.”

“Ah. I see.” I pull him to me for another kiss. “So, what am I thinking right now?”

He peers at me with exaggerated intensity. “You’re thinking you wish I was a woman.”

I snort. “If you’re the expert, the world will never know the real Brian Kinney.”

“Okay, then how about this: your headache is lessening and you’re hornier than hell because you’ve only gotten off once in days and you want me to suck you dry.”

Much better. I cock an eyebrow. “Bedroom. Now.” I growl.

Once on the bed his hand reaches under the waistband of my (fucking) sweats and he begins massaging my semi-stiff dick slowly. In no time, I’m as hard as a rock and I pull him in for what’s definitely not a ‘comfort kiss’. “Mmrph.” He utters as our tongues explore each other’s mouths with an urgency we haven’t had for quite a long time. I can feel the slickness my pre-cum already moistening his hand and I know I’m not going to last long. He pulls his face away, looking into my eyes with absolute lust, licking his now swollen lips and he gives me a look like he wants to devour me.

Which, to my luck, he does. He gets up and moves between my splayed legs and pulls my sweats down to my ankles- ever the sensitive boy, he is careful of my fucking wound. I look down at him and he’s staring at me, still licking his lips. He dips his head down to slaver my balls and then trails his tongue up my cock, “mmm’ing” and “uhhh’ing” the whole time. When he takes my cock into his mouth my head drops back and I moan. No one gives head like Justin and sometimes, as much as I love to watch him, I just can’t help closing my eyes to simply experience it. His hand wraps around the base of my cock and I feel his tongue roll around the head and then he engulfs my entire penis and I feel the soft tissue in the back of his throat. 

“Oh God…” That must be me because Justin’s mouth is full- but that’s the only reason I’d know that because I’m so fucking lost right now I can’t think. Justin swallows with the head of my dick at the back of his mouth and I yelp. He begins to slowly pump my dick with his mouth and fist and I groan impatiently for him to quicken the pace because I’m about out of my head. He starts to go faster and I force myself to open my eyes and look down at him, to watch him. “Fuck me!” His eyes are intent on my face and the sight of Justin, his mouth full with my cock, his eyes watching me with lust and-- it’s just fucking too much and I can feel that familiar tingling in my balls. I feel him moan with my cock in his mouth and he must sense I’m about to shoot because he pulls up slightly, still sucking, and catches my cum in his mouth and I shoot and shoot and shoot what seems like fucking days worth of cum… and he milks my dick for every last drop. My head falls back onto the bed and I moan. “Jesus. Jesus. Fuck…” I mutter. Or maybe I have been this whole time. I feel his tongue swirl softly one last time around my cock before he pulls away. He raises up and leans over me between my legs to kiss me. I suck my cum from his mouth and it mingles between us as we kiss and swallow.

“You have the most incredible taste, Brian.” He says, breaking the kiss. “I can’t get fucking enough of it.”

“Even that time? My God, I came hard.” I breathe. 

“Fuck, Brian, that was hot. Mmmmm…” He says, kissing me again. “Mmmmmm. Goooood.” Then he shows me his hand, which is covered in cum- he must have gotten himself off getting me off. I take a big long lick and lean up to kiss him, letting him taste himself. “Mmmmm…”

Yeah. Mmmm is fucking right. “Justin, we could bottle your cum and sell it for millions. Fags everywhere would be gobbling it up.” He laughs at that. But I’m not sure I’m not right, actually. And it would be far better than trying to market my high school attempt at synthetic cum. Unless we marketed that as fucking glue.

“Maybe we should go into business together. Bottle our cum and sell it.” He says, chuckling and laying his head on my chest.

“Uh huh. We’d make a mint. And fuck. Have a helluva lot of fun making the product.”

“What would the slogan be?”

“I think you’ve already said it. Mmmm- mmmm good.”

He laughs. “I think that one’s been taken.”

We lay there for a little while, Justin on top of me between my naked legs, his head on my chest. His finger traces lazy circles around my right nipple through the wife-beater. I’m beginning to doze when: “Brian?”

Uh oh. Inadvertently I must tense up and he must sense it because he slaps my chest lightly, “Stop it. I’m not going to talk about that. I just wanted to know if you wanted to help me with the fucking Chicken Cacciatore.”

Oh. 

“Oh.”

“Well?”

I shrug. “Sure, I guess. ‘Course, I’m pretty useless though at the moment.” I raise my cast to remind him. 

“You aren’t useless. You can measure wine, can’t you?”

“I can drink wine. I’ve never tried measuring it though.”

He just laughs and shifts, getting up to pull on my sweats. “I’m sure you can do both, Brian.” He snaps the waistband when it gets around my middle. “C’mon.”

I grunt as I sit up. “We should try something with a cum base, you know that?” I think aloud. Justin laughs again and pulls me all the way up as I grab my crutches to support myself. “What? You think I’m kidding?”


	32. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

Justin puts a plate of gunk in front of me and hands me a fork. He’s already cut up the meat for his hapless companion, I notice. It smells fantastic, but it looks disgusting.

“This looks disgusting.” 

Justin frowns. “Fuck you. It does not. Just try it.”

I shrug and stab a piece of chicken with my fork and push it around the plate a little. Ew. It looks like a goulash made from blood and guts.

“Jesus, Brian, just try it.” He says again, his mouth full.

I sigh and take a bite. He looks at me as I chew, waiting for my reaction. And it’s not bad, actually. “It’s not bad.” I say simply. “Must be because I measured the wine.” I add.

He grins. “So. Have you thought about it?”

Huh? “What?” 

“What Gary said earlier.”

God. With all the fucking high drama around here I completely forgot about that shit. “No. When would I have had time to do that, what with dealing with a fucking drama princess living and ranting in my loft?” Justin rolls his eyes but says nothing. I pause and take a swig of beer. “But I’m thinking we might want to tell Horvath about it.”

“Who’s Gina, by the way?”

“Gina is homophobic Stockwell’s homophobic wife. She’s fucking weird. Like June Cleaver gone psycho.”

He snorts. 

“After it came out that I was gay, she treated me like I was Satan incarnate. Which, while I may BE Satan incarnate, I didn’t let on. I was nothing but Mr. Manners around the Stockwell family. And even before she knew I was gay, there was just something about her that set me on edge. She seemed repressed or something. Everything in their house was ‘just so’- she was like a housewife out of the ‘50's but wearing slacks. I tried to stay out of her way, to be honest.”

“Do you want to go see her? Or talk to Stockwell about it?”

I look at him like he’s insane. “Are you nuts? What if she’s the murderer? I don’t really feel like being killed. At the moment, anyway.”

“Why would she be the murderer? What does she have against Rita, or us, or Hunter? Or Jason and Reikert, for that matter?”

Hell, I don’t know. “Maybe she... maybe she knew that Kemp was blackmailing Stockwell. Maybe she took matters into her own hands. And maybe Reikert found out about it. That it was her. And us and Hunter- well, fuck, I’m sure she knew I was fired from the firm for undermining her husband’s campaign. With you. Even if she doesn’t know I was responsible for that ad, she knew I worked towards her husband losing the election. And Hunter was simply in the car with us. Or who knows- maybe Kemp let on something about Hunter when he was blackmailing Stockwell. Or fuck, maybe Hunter tried to blackmail Stockwell himself. Plus, it was obvious they were pretty close friends and I’m sure Gina was at all those stupid police functions. Like the picnic. Fuck knows. It’s just a thought.”

“What about Rita?”

Yeah. Rita. That just doesn’t fit, does it? “I dunno. But accidents DO happen. And fuck me if it’s like Freaky Friday in gay old Pittsburgh right now. The coincidences we’ve encountered in the last few days are a little staggering, don’tcha think?” Justin rolls his eyes in agreement, taking a sip of beer. “Ha, or maybe she was having an affair with Stockwell.” I snicker. But I know I’m stretching. About that, anyway. Stockwell’s so fucking uptight and Christian I highly doubt he’d stray off the straight (very straight) and narrow. Breeders. Fuck’em all, as Emmett would say.

“What about Stockwell? Could he have done it?”

“Sure. But it would be pretty risky. He’s the fucking Chief of Police- covering up the murder of a nameless gay dumpster boy is one thing. Murder is another. And I know him. He’s not a psycho. He’s a jerk. He’s an ass. He’s a homophobe. But ultimately, he’s just a fucking politician.” 

“Well, Bush is a politician and he’s psycho.” Justin points out. Huh. Good point.

“Plus, as we’ve all pointed out- the timing of Reikert’s murder made no sense as far as Stockwell’s campaign was concerned. Reikert was going down anyway.”

We continue to eat in silence for awhile, thinking. Really, now that I think of it, of all the people we’ve considered, Gina seems the most likely one. I mean, I’m pretty sure it was a woman who was following us on the way to get Hunter- if we were being followed I mean. Oh, hey. “Hey, Justin. You wrote down that license number, didn’t you? From the car parked at that dump of a rest stop?”

“Fuck, yeah! I totally forgot about that! I think it’s in my coat.” He swallows, tosses his napkin on the counter and goes to get his jacket. He comes back, fishing around in his pockets. “I can’t find it.” 

“Check the jeans you were wearing.”

He goes into the bedroom and comes back with a scrap of paper. “Sweet! Here it is.”

“I wonder if Horvath has a friend on the force who would run the number?”

“Can’t hurt to ask.” Justin fishes around in his jacket again and pulls out the Fairy Gary/Kenny love letter stack and starts leafing through it for the number. He hands it to me and I pull out my cell and dial.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Carl. Detectives Kinney and Taylor here...” Justin rolls his eyes and picks up the plates, moving towards the sink.


	33. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: JUSTIN

While Brian’s busy talking to Horvath, I rinse off the plates and place them in the dishwasher. Gina Stockwell. Who would have thought? Brian seems to think she’s the most likely one. Gina Stockwell. The bitch who probably was the one who almost killed Brian. Who put Hunter into a coma. Who, it would appear, is a fucking serial killer, targeting those of us in gay PA who had anything to do with undermining her husband’s run for office. For fucking mayor. Of fucking Pittsburgh. Hardly high office.

Gives ‘behind every successful man, there is a woman’ a whole new meaning. Unsuccessful ones, too.

I head into the bathroom and start a shower. 

\--------------------------------------

When I come out of the bathroom I go and get dressed and walk into the living room to join Brian. He’s reading the paper at the counter. “Guess what?” He says, turning the page. “Gay as Blazes is going into syndication. Fucking stupidest show on the planet and they’re re-running it.”

“Whatever.” I go and get a beer and sit down next to him. “Have you checked out the want ads?”

He shoots me a look. “Shut up, Justin. I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, Brian, maybe you should start looking.”

“I have been.” He puts down the paper. “I know of an opening, actually. And I’ve been offered the job.” He looks at me, apparently trying to gauge my reaction.

Wow! This is news! “That’s fantastic, Brian! Fuck, why didn’t you tell me? Where at?” Things are looking up!

“Farago Advertising.”

“Farago? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s in New York.”

I nearly spit out my beer. “New York? You mean...” Fuck, he’s leaving. He’s leaving. God, I remember the last time I almost lost him to New York and I groan. “Are... are you going to take it?” I ask hesitantly.

“Thinking about it.” He says, still eyeing me. 

“Isn’t there...isn’t there something in Pittsburgh?”

“My reputation for talent may be stellar - but my reputation for pulling the rug out from under a client pretty much fucks me over as far as getting a job at another agency in the Pitts.”

I just stare at the bottle of beer in my grasp, peeling the label off the neck with my fingernail. “So, you’re leaving.” It’s not a question. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell he’s still looking at me closely.

“Maybe.” Is all he says. 

“Oh.” Take me with you, I want to say. I desperately want to say. But I know I can’t ask that of him. I mean, we’ve come a loooong way, but him dragging me to live with him in New York is a bit much. Still, though. “And what about...” us. What about US? 

“About...?”

“Me.”

Brian folds the paper on the counter in front of him and reaches over for my beer, taking it from my hand and drinking it down in one gulp. “What ABOUT you?” He asks.

“You know what I mean, Brian.” I hate it when he acts thick-headed like this. He plays these stupid little games intended to make me spell shit out and I hate it. Partly because I try to play the same games on him and he refuses to bite.

“Well, you’re about 5 foot nothing, 150 pounds, pale as a ghost, annoying, and a drama princess.” He says. “OH- and you give head better than anybody.” He adds.

“Stop being purposefully obtuse, asshole.”

His expression becomes serious. “I haven’t decided whether I’m going to take it, Justin. And if I do, you can visit- it’s a relatively short train ride.”

“I don’t want to visit.” He looks at me, caught a little off guard. “Visiting sucks. I’d rather go WITH you.” There. Fine. I said it. I look at him. And. He looks a little surprised. He can be a complete idiot sometimes. But it would seem that the notion of my going with him had never entered his mind. Fuck.

“Why would you want to do that? All your friends and family are here.”

“Fuck that, Brian, so are yours.”

“My family is my mother and sister and I don’t see them as it is, thank God. Or rarely. Fuck, last time I saw them they fucking believed I was a child molester,” he snorts. “As you know. And I can stand to live away from the freak-show that is my alternate family. I guarantee you the ‘girls’ will plan a ‘road trip’ at least once or twice a month to crash at my place and go clubbing. But you,” he says, “Justin, you have Molly and your mom here. And Daphne. And Deb would fucking die without you to cluck over.”

Uh huh. “But-“

“Justin, I couldn’t take you away from all of that.”

I look at him. “You’re so fucking blind sometimes, Brian. ‘All of that’ is nothing compared to me wanting to be with you, don’t you know that?” I sort of surprise myself that I dared to say that. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

He looks puzzled. And admittedly, that was quite the little declaration on my part. “What the fuck?”

“God, you are SUCH an idiot sometimes, Brian. I swear it.” I say. “How could you possibly think I wouldn’t go with you? Want to go with you? If you’d let me, I mean.” 

He just blinks and seems to think a moment. “Your mother would kill me, Justin. Fuck, Daphne would probably load the gun for her.”

“Bullshit. I’m 20–“

“You’re 19.”

“Almost 20. Most people my age are away from home, going to college. Hell, a lot of my classmates went off to college in fucking California and Colorado. New York is at least on the east coast.”

He nods slightly. “Still, I don’t know, Justin.” He sounds uncertain. “That’s kind of a huge... I don’t know. It’s just kind of huge. You moving with me to New York City. We might fucking kill each other before the end of the first week.”

“No, we won’t. We live together now, don’t we? In peace and harmony.”

He scoffs. “Yeah. Uh huh. Peace and harmony my ass. We fight to the point of wanting to kill each other at least once a day.”

“But we don’t. And we make up. Get off. Have dinner. Solve mysteries. Learn that Gay as Blazes is going into re-runs. And all without bloodshed.” He just smirks. “Just think about it, Brian. Besides, there are some fucking fantastic art schools in New York.”

“Art schools that are fucking expensive, too. Parsons is like 15 grand a semester. The New York Academy of Art is like 20 grand. Brooks is a whopping 23 grand. And until I get on my feet there, I can’t pay for your sorry ass.”

Wait a minute here. Back up the truck. How the fuck does he know what art schools in New York cost? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Heheh. I can’t help a small smile.

He looks suddenly uncomfortable, realizing he revealed a bit too much. “What the fuck are YOU smiling at?” He snaps. 

“You so care about me! You looooove me!” I sing song.

He hates it when I do that- which, quite frankly, is why I am. After this little scare he just gave me, I’m going to make him suffer.

“Shut the fuck up, Justin. I hate it when you do that shit.”

“You’ve looked into art schools there! Now, hmmm. Why would you do that, I wonder?” I tap my chin with my index finger and look up at the ceiling with a puzzled look. Then I snap my fingers. “Ah ha! Got it!” I pause for effect. “You were fucking planning to take me with you all along if I really wanted to go! You jerk!”

“Fucker.” But he doesn’t deny it. “You can be a real ass, you know that, Taylor?”

“Uh huh.” I grin.

“Horvath said he’d call us back once he gets some information on the car.” He says suddenly. Changing the subject. A Kinney specialty. I guess I’ll let him.

“Okay. Any news?”

“Just that the investigation into Rita’s accident showed it to be just that. She hit a patch of ice and lost control of the car.”

“Oh, wow. So Gina... Gina really is the one.”

“Well, she’s our best bet.”

Just then, Brian’s cell rings and he flips it open. “International House of Pancakes.” Jesus. “Oh, hi Carl.” I look at him as he listens. “Yeah..... oh, wow..... yeah. Okay. Keep us posted. Thanks for calling.” He flips it closed and I look at him expectantly.

“Well?” I say impatiently.

“Yep.”

“‘Yep’ what? It was her car?”

He nods. “Horvath said his friend on the force is going to go to Stockwell’s house to ask her a few questions. But it seems we have a winner. Still, he’s going to call us if there are ‘any developments’ as he put it. Sounded like a goddamned anchorman.”

I let the news sink in. “That’s fucking intense, Brian. We really did solve a murder!”

“Yeah. I feel so... ‘Columbo.’ ‘Dragnet’.”

“‘Cagney and Lacey’.” I add.

“Ew. Coupla dykes. No way. Deb loves that show though.” He chuckles. “Wasn’t just one murder, though- it was a series of them, actually. Psycho bitch killed or tried to kill what,” he begins counting off names on his fingers, “Kemp, Reikert, you, me and Hunter.”

“So, what would the sentence be on Law and Order?”

He laughs lightly. “Probably life in prison. Or death. I don’t fucking know. I haven’t seen an episode about a freak targeting fags. Maybe they’ll make her honorary mayor instead. Celebrate the morality she oozes.”

I just sigh. “Let’s go to bed.”

“YES.”


	34. If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be A Mystery, Now Would It?

POV: BRIAN

It’s late when I open my eyes; I can tell from the sun it must be after 10. And, yes. He’s fucking staring at me. “Justin, what the fuck is with you? Stop staring at me when I’m sleeping.”

“I like to. I get to watch you dream. It’s cool.”

Whatever. “You’re a weird fuck, Justin.” And, speaking of dreams... “How’d you sleep?”

“Good, actually. Really good...”

Good. “Good.”

“Want breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s your leg?” He asks, getting out of bed.

“Fine and dandy.”

“Let me look at it.” He walks over to my side of the bed and starts tugging at the bandage. 

“Ouch, Justin! Watch it!” Just then, my cell rings. “Can you get that?” Justin’s already jogging over to the counter where I left my phone. I groan as I get up and reach for my crutches. My leg actually isn’t killing me today. Miracle of miracles. I pull on some pajama bottoms and lurch down the stairs into the kitchen. I look around. God, I have to get some furniture, I think to myself.

“No shit!” Justin’s saying. “Yeah. Thanks. Wow.” He flips the phone closed and looks at me. “She fucking confessed! To everything!”

Whoa. “What?”

”Gina Stockwell. Apparently she found one of Kemp’s blackmail letters and as you said, took matters into her own hands! And Reikert found out it was her and was going to go to Stockwell about it but she got to him first.” Justin looks stunned.

“Fucking cunt.”

“She almost killed you.”

“You too, dear.”

Suddenly I find myself on the receiving end of a fervent hug and I wrap my arms around him as best I can. What the? “It’s okay, Justin. They caught her.” He’s fucking shaking like a leaf. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Oh. 

I smile. Me too. “Me too.” He squeezes me tightly and I pause, giving him a short kiss to the top of his head. “Justin, I think you’ve graduated from drama princess into drama QUEEN. Just think! You’re a MAN now, Sunshine!” I feel him relax in my arms and even hear a small laugh.

“Ass.” He says. Then adds, “I learned from the master.” 

I think a few moments. “Emmett?”


End file.
